#if you are wondering it was prompted by seeing the same “might be a hot take buuut..... tristamp is trash and i hate it” type of post

[carbon-dating-everything]

flavor profiling l mitchell linn x reader

pairing: mitchell linn x gender neutral reader

summary: mitchell writes a review of you that ends up being more of a love letter.

content / warnings: lightly suggestive (mitchell has a Thing for food and flavors)

word count: 800

a/n: not sure how on the money to his character this is? but hope it’s enjoyable nonetheless!!

If Mitchell Linn had to pick a favorite restaurant, the chance of him simply giving a name is unlikely. With the objective of critique removed, he deliberates over the options available to him for hours. There are many criteria to consider, after all; what delineates good from bad, artful from distasteful, all have a hand in his “favorite” for the day. You'll never get a straightforward answer.

But if one were to ask him for his preference in personnage — well, it is no question that you are five stars in his book.

He knows this because he has reviewed you, just as he has with everything else. Pen to paper has always been how he concludes things best, so his assessment of you and your tastes begins in the same way he writes scathing or glowing reviews: edible ink pen poised over rice paper, unscented and lying in wait to absorb the smells of whatever meal might be coming.

How to accurately describe you and your tastes in a few simple sentences? He begins to write slowly as he thinks.

Ever the critic, Mitchell does not simply give praise away: being food himself, he’s not easy to impress. Yet you manage to exceed all his expectations, your knowledge of the culinary world vast and deep. Instinctively, you suggest the most delectable pairings of cheeses with fruit: comté with cherries, raspberries with ricotta. The pen picks up speed as he further recalls how your your eyes always shift over to him slyly, searching for approval, as if you don’t already know your choices are perfect. It tantalizes him so to know that there is an equal who can delight in food with him, and by extension delight in him, so wonderfully.

There are other times, too, when you eat far simpler meals — smatterings of fast food and your famous chicken tendies that have a certain microwave screaming. But even those are not wasted on you. The least artful of foods are somehow rendered exquisite when he sees the way you lift them to your lips, or lick the grease off of your fingers — an intimate joining that he wishes he could mutually indulge in with you at all times, outside of the rose-orange tint of your aviators.

Of course, this does not even include the times in which you cook for yourself — not just out of necessity, but of a wish to incorporate the flavors that spark in your brain. Obviously, he has taken the opportunity to inspect your cuisine, though you seem to like making food for him without prompting. One time you made him a blueberry pie, traditional in all the best ways (inspired by your outfit, you’d said), and he wondered if it was the warm, hot syrup in the slice you serve him or the sweetness of the gesture itself that made it stick in his throat and a flush appear over his freckled cheeks.

You — you, you…

(The rice paper tears a little underneath his hand, so hard has he pressed his pen to its surface in writing.)

It is as if his heart has been filled with the tastiest gelée, continually devoured whenever he chances upon your smile lit in the kitchen sunlight as you pad over to your meal of choice. He feels drunk on you, heady like the finest of aged wines, consumed by your consumption.

Indulging in food together is itself an act of love, you’d said to him in a moment of pensiveness. It is a statement that you’ve proven many times over during your visits to the eateries scattered around the house, the chemistry between you sizzling like oil on a hot stove. And when all the restaurants have closed, and you two have retired to the privacy of your bedroom — well, that is when he truly gets to savor you as a dish for himself, feeling you melt like spun sugar yet moaning from the tastes of salt and iron underneath his tongue…

His pen stills from where it had been feverishly scratching away as he slows to read what he has written, roving over the sudden shift from his writing going from measured to madness; the letter of a hopeless romantic rather than a restaurateur.

Overdone on the metaphors, he chastises himself. He has been far more effusive, and a tad more lascivious, than any critic ought to be, and yet he has not even begun to sum you up — perhaps you encompass too much to be described so simply. Perhaps you are so delectable that you defy description itself.

He must still try, though, and he adds a postscript to his review to justify the five stars.

For lack of any better things to say, you are damn good.

a/n: i love his yum pose. yum 👌(˘ڡ˘)

[vero-niche]

unexpectedly, my half-asleep written mini-rant has been quite well received on bluesky, so might as well share it here too:

and some of my favourite replies:

[hungharrington]

i love every single one of the summer smut prompts and am manifesting them for everyone this summer but "utilisation of the ties on the sides of bikini bottoms" for stevie? 🥰

i wish that for everyone also!! okie this became filthy so quickly lol but i also hope everyone looked at this prompt and went 🙂‍↕️ steve's a munch. afab!reader, 1.8k, overstim, a very unsanitary use of a kitchen counter, nearly mean!steve, mdni this entire blog is 18+

unravelled

"You know," Steve murmurs in your ear, his breath hot across your skin. "This is normally much harder."

The kitchen counter digs into your lower back lightly, the stone cool compared to your flushed skin. Steve's crowded against you, his hands wandering, with a particular interest in the sides of your bikini. He's close enough you can feel the scratch of the hair of his chest, feel the heat of his body.

He kisses your neck. You try to hold even a modicum of power here.

"Is that—" Your sharp inhale interrupts, due to the hickey Steve's beginning to paint onto the sensitive skin of your neck. "—some, like, stupid dick joke?"

You feel, rather than hear, Steve's responding laughter. It's light and immediately buried beneath another scrape of his teeth along your neck. You gasp softly, entirely unsure what to do with your hands.

It's not as if you're surprised you ended up here — you and Steve cooling off in the pool, with minimal fabric between you, is hardly a difficult equation.

It's more the here, the now.

You're still in the kitchen for christ's sake—and yet no part of you wants to tell Steve to wait so you can move it upstairs just yet. You're more eager than you'd expect to see where this goes.

"No," Steve says raspily, dragging his mouth off you.

You wonder if its because he knows you can't pay attention to anything else when he's kissing you — because you become rapidly aware of the way his fingers have slipped beneath the ties of your bikini.

"'M talkin' about these," He says, pulling back. His lips are pinker than ever, his eyes darkened with desire. He smirks. "They make for such..."

He toys with the string on one side, giving it the lightest tug. Your stomach twists up, in excitement though you realise, as it dawns on you that might not even make it up to the bedroom.

"Easy access." He finishes, releasing his hold on the string and instead letting the tie ping back against your skin with a snap!

Your breath shudders out of you, nipples peaking beneath your bikini, and suddenly you're absolutely sure you'll do anything to have this man ravish you. Steve must see it, the heaviness that sinks into your gaze, because he's grinning all of sudden.

His hands on your hips shift back, palming over your ass, before he mumbles, jump, and you're swiftly lifted up and onto the counter. The marble is still cool, though not enough to explain the goosebumps prickling along your body. That's from Steve entirely.

His hands bracket your body as he finds space between your parted knees, leaning in and kissing you hotly.

Your pulse rabbits in your chest, your hands finding their place either side of his face, pulling him closer. You're both on the same page now, you can tell.

Still, Steve still asks. "You okay?

He's toying with your bikini strings again as he does, evidently what he's asking about. You nod, a little mmhm coming from your throat because you're a little scared about how debauched you might sound before he's even started.

Steve grins, hazel eyes shining with adoration as he peers over your face. "Good. Just want my baby to have fun."

It's gooey enough to make you roll your eyes, just so you don't have to deal with how sappy it makes you feel. Still, with your hands cupping his face, you urge him closer.

"So long as you're also having fun, yeah?" You check, stealing a kiss from his lips. Your noses touch and Steve nuzzles in closer, another kiss shared.

"Fun? Absolutely." He sounds so sure, so you don't stop him when he pulls back. He glances down to where his long fingers are still playing with your bikini strings, then back up at you, a hunger to the lust in his eyes.

"See?" He says nonchalantly. "It's like you're gift-wrapped for me, honey."

Then he tugs on the string, slow and continuous, until the knots unravels, undoing your bikini. You watch with bated breath as he does the same on the other side til the fabric sits loose and free. The sticky evidence of how riled up he's got you just inches away.

Your cunt pulses hotly, heartbeat too strong. You need him to do something, like, yesterday.

Steve moves slowly, as if drawing out the moment for himself, dragging a finger down the crease of your thigh. It pushes the fabric with it, slowly revealing you to him. There's a string of slick still connected and you can hear the soft groan Steve makes the moment he sees it.

"Oh, honey," He coos. "S'cute how excited you are."

Some biting response rises on your tongue, but then his hand is moving again — his thumb this time, rubbing along the lip before he nudges your folds open more.

Something flames inside you, feeling oddly inspected, as his other meandering hand sinks lower and lower. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, urging him in, but Steve only makes another soft groan. His finger traces just below your leaking hole, finally picking up some slickness.

Your patience runs out. "Steve," You say pitifully. "You said fun."

He grins, gaze switching up to your face, already well aware of your impatience from the twitch in your hips.

"Okay, baby, we will," He promises. Then he nods to behind you, "Lay back if you want."

Then he sinks to his knees, bringing his face aligned with your hot cunt. Your tummy warms, your hole clenching around nothing again, as what he wants dawns on you. Your hands stumble back, letting you lean back a bit, but your eyes stay glued to your boyfriend.

The air is thick with heat. Cicadas sing in the background, through the open door. You can't hear anything but your heartbeat.

Steve looks like a goddamn angel, on his knees between your legs, and something keens inside you when he uses both thumbs to spread your silky folds — then he leans forward and begins to lap softly at your clit.

A shuddering gasp is pulled from your mouth instantly. "Oh fuck," You whisper, already fighting against closing your eyes.

A heady warm pleasure beginning to drizzle through your core. Steve's tongue is warm, the way he's spread you giving him access to a thousand more nerves. You fall into heaving breaths as you try to keep up.

Steve licks, tongue flat, tortuously slow against you, gentle in a way that makes it hard to chase. It's a buzz of pleasure you can sink into, but it's almost... teasing.

"Steve," You whine his name again.

Steve moans in response, the hum of it against your clit friction enough to make you squeak. Your elbow buckles and you let yourself lower down to rest on them—it'll hurt like hell later but for now, nothing matter more than Steve's mouth between your thighs.

One of his hands shifts, the thumb moving from where its holding you open, down, down, til it rests near your entrance.

You clench unwittingly, hips tilting up, trying to clue him in. A whimper slips through your teeth — and you get another moan against your cunt in response.

But if Steve gets your hint, he doesn't show it. His thumb only moves to rest over your hole, beginning to draw slick circles, taunting you wickedly.

The combination of his lapping tongue and feathersoft touches are maddening. Your stomach burns hotly. Your hips twitch again. Your chest heaves, desperate noises warbling from your mouth. You're burning up from inside, tortured from the waves of soft pleasure driving into you.

"Steve," You whimper his name again, suddenly desperate for more. You want his fingers sinking in you, crooking and finding that spot he knows so well. You want the filthy suckle of his mouth, twisting his tongue over your clit in a way he's done before.

All your pleas come out in a stilted, jagged moan, "St— Steve, please, oh fuck, please—"

"Sh, sh," Pleasure tapers off as Steve pulls back to hush you, the thumb over your entrance still circling, pressing ever so slightly from time to time. "It's fun, isn't it? You're having fun?"

You're nodding quickly, not wanting him to stop, and he resumes his lapping, his other thumb shifting to ensure the hood of your clit is lifted.

You moan, languid and pitiful, as the same flow of pleasure begins — a drip, drip, drip, that feels amazing but not enough to satisfy.

You're not sure how long it goes on like that.

The stroke of Steve's tongue, relaxed and slow, continues whilst you squirm on the counter, leaking wetness onto his teasing thumb. It feels like hours, though you know it's realistically closer to barely twenty minutes.

All you know is at some point, the drip fills the bucket.

It'd been building so long you hadn't noticed — that at some point your pleasure, agitated enough in small amounts, over and over, was still working towards going on the edge.

You tense, shallow pants suddenly heaving your chest, your head thrown back and your back arching. Steve is the same, keeping his soft licks and gentle touches, and you writhe as the blazing feeling mounts.

"Steve," You mewl pathetically.

The next lick will be the one that does it. It has to be. You can't keep building.

The pleasure singes in your gut, Steve's tongue pushing over your clit, and it's not enough.

"S-Steve, please, pleasepleaseplease," Your voice sounds wrecked. "Just— c'mon- I'm— please—" You sound truly desperate.

Steve moans against you, low and hot, and he finally, finally pushes his thumb forward, sinking into the slickness easily. Clenching around it immediately, a flame zips up your spine, sending the bucket tipping over completely.

Pleasure melts over you, hot and fiery, and you make a high-pitched gaspy noise that Steve will undoubtedly call adorable later. For now, he works you through the orgasm dotingly.

Using one hand, he keeps your hips pinned to the counter while the other toys with your fluttering, gushing hole. You moan pathetically, hips working furiously against Steve's hold futilely.

His tongue keeps the same soft laps the whole time.

Eventually, you have to tap his forehead to get him to stop, when the pleasure fades off and you begin to near overstimulation.

Steve pulls back slowly, almost reluctantly. His face is pink, his lips sheened in your arousal, pulled in a smirk.

"Fun, right?" He asks. His voice is gravelly from underuse and you swallow back the desire it sends through you. You're still panting, still trying to catch your breath. You nod, knowing Steve wants the feedback, wants to know he's done well.

"Why stop then? Don't you wanna keep having fun?"

Your eyes snap back to him, focused now, as you realise no that is not what Steve was asking for.

You watch as his head lowers back down, then he slowly resumes the kitten-licks to you clit. His hungry eyes stay fixed on yours, taking in every twitch of your overstimulated body with a soft groan.

You realise, pleasure bleeding in through the overstimulation, that you'll let him do it over again.

You take his advice this time and lie all the way back.

come join the celebration <3

[koalayoo]

Men who talk a certain way.

They carry themselves with elegance, talk with a poised cadence unique to them. They hold themselves upright and have an air of superiority. A cunning look, signature smirk, firm hand; these are staples of their character, they know how to strike a deal. Whether for their people or their own gain, they intimidate those to gain an advantage no matter how many exploits gone through or people exploited.

People either love or fear them.

They’re important.

It’s no surprise that they sit at the centre of the table at a meeting, commanding attention. All eyes are on them, gripping their every word. Prompt nods and murmurs of agreements follow. They’re smart too. Incredible wit and perceptiveness as they continuously glance at everyone, especially you.

Fuck, and they’re hot too.

It makes your blood run hot. Jolts shoot throughout your body and you avert your gaze. It was stupid to you to be losing your cool for a man who felt indifferent about your existence. Maybe that isn’t the right word. 

Sometimes, you would question whether he hated you. Whenever you needed a pen, your hands brushed against one another for a second and he would quickly pull back as if being stung by a bee with a slight scowl forming on his face. If the piles of paper you needed to finish took too long, he would be adamant you finish for the night, which is all fine and dandy if he wasn’t looking for help from others to complete your work. He even reprimanded you, talked to you in that familiar stern tone once for not having your priorities in place when a stranger came up to you in a flirtatious manner as if you could control that. 

He pissed you off. 

Why couldn’t he care about you like a normal person?

However, you were wrong about all of it. He cared too much.

When your fingers grazed him he was ridden with guilt, these were the same hands he would think about at night. Imagine tracing the sharp edges of his skin. He would shut his eyes and throw his head back, replacing his hands with your own. Try to commit the soft feel of yours to his. Would you go slow or fast? He wondered. How would you hold him? Would you let him make a mess? His thoughts would trail on and on questioning your grip, your face, what you would say.

So, it was no surprise when he saw you working yourself to exhaustion that he wanted you to rest. That was his duty after all. Only he could do that. The eyes that he desperately wanted to see glazed over with a lust filled haze needed to be well rested first. That way, he could slowly see them become drunk for him, turning red, bloodshot from just how well he would treat you.

And it was especially no surprise that when another person had the audacity to want you too, he had to stop them. Sure, you didn’t deserve the scolding but he would make you feel so much better later on. He just had to be patient.

Had to keep his tone steady and tame. Pretend to treat you just like everyone else. Even if you thought he hated you. He could fuck you like that too if you wanted. He would give you anything you wanted. However, you didn’t deserve to know how depraved he truly was.

There was a thought that lingered at the forefront of his mind. If you found out just how he imagined you, would you leave? He figured you might feel disgusted, a man of his caliber, his power, wanting to succumb to you. And so he continued to talk. Continued to keep his tone steady. Keep his tone tame. 

He would keep himself in line; refined. Because if you found out how he was imagining you, perhaps then this man would truly feel fear.

fantasising about...

Sylus, NEUVILLETTE, Jing Yuan, Welt, Sunday, DAN HENG, Artem, Zhongli!, Gepard, Alhaitham?, Cyno ...and anyone else you're thinking of

Hope you liked this! Inspired by the song 'Talk' by Hozier. Specifically the line, "So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you." Please give it a listen! It was in my Spotify Top 5 it's so good and captures the vibe I was trying to go for with this. Sorry for the yap. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[ordowrites]

cw: yandere, possessive behavior, afab reader, power imbalance, spanking ment. (arle), hinted kidnapping, hinted imprisonment pet names, unhealthy relationships, mdni.

characters: arlecchino, scaramouche, diluc.

minors and blank blogs dni.

Diluc stares at you in a way you can't describe - those red eyes of him make your skin prickle as you adjust the tille on your dress and play with sleeves that flare out to give you a floral look. (Though you think you look like fire, because it's red and you're beginning to hate the color). You watch as his lips thin into a line as that red gaze looks down to where your chest is more noticeable before glancing back up.

Your heart pounds in your chest as he strides over to you, long legs breaking the distance. You want to run - you didn't want to be here.

When he parts his lips to speak, you flinch, expecting the worst.

"How beautiful you look, my love." You're sure he was going to say something else, with that expression on his face. His hands rest at your hips and you wonder about burning this dress the same way you did your wedding dress (pawning it off for mora would be impossible). "However."

"However...?" you prompt, growing concern. Tonight is already ruined and you were hoping maybe, for a moment, you could have some fun.

Diluc clearns his throat, his hand working up to the low cut but tasteful part of the dress and tugs it. He can get a nice eyeful of your breasts, but not too much. It is conservative but fashionable. "However," he continues, voice raspy now, face reddening a bit. "Must it be so...revealing?"

"You are the one who chose this dress." You point out. Because this rich people party is required for you to attend, and you don't want to go through another however long it will take to choose an acceptable dress. "So I am going to wear it."

Even though you'd like it if it were another color, you think to yourself.

Diluc lets out a breath through his nose - choosing to concede and letting his hands concede. No doubt nobody needs to see the tycoon and his unwilling wife argue today. If you argued, he'd have to claim hysterical and there would be more gossip.

"If you say so, my love." he says, weakly. "But if I feel you are receiving too much attention or -" Too much attention means you're talking to unapproved people, you mentally add on. "you are behaving inappropriately, you will be retired for the night."

Diluc controls many things in your life and you're more than surprised he conceded so easily. Perhaps the argument just was not worth it.

For now.

The dress feels nice with the growing heat of the summer, the cool breeze that comes off the sea helps relieve some of the worst feelings of being hot - though you consider jumping in or hiding in one of the ships, until you consider whose eyes might be on you and the color of your favorite summer dress.

Had been your favorite summer dress.

The familiar soft click of heels that make you tense and shudder approach.

"Good afternoon, you look much like a flower today." Arlecchino is still able to make you feel as if you're in the dead of winter and not in the height of Fontaine's summer. "Were you not supposed to stay with in the city, little flower?"

Affectionate nicknames are not her thing - you are in trouble.

"I wandered," you lie. "It is merely the docks, and the sea is so beautiful today." She is always so composed but the Knave looks at you dead in the eyes and you have to look away. "Am I needed elsewhere?"

"No." comes the answer. "But perhaps return now before you get hurt."

By you or by them? you wonder as you don't fight how her hand goes to your hip and she guides you away from the docks, none of the sailors pay you any attention.

"Since you wish to run off without permission, I suppose we can spend a little time outside today." Alrecchino's tone is a warning and you can already feel the sting of her palm against your skin. "Don't think of this as a reward, but merely a mercy. It is quite nice and cabin fever is no fun."

Her nails dig into the flesh of your hips.

"But do remember you are in trouble." You nod weakly. "I do like this dress on you. Perhaps you should wear it out more. Much better than your usual choices."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Good girl." And you are forced into compliance as she leads - not guides - you home. You can't help but glance over your shoulder, hungry to escape to the sea and leave Fontaine. But there is no place in Teyvat where her claws won't reach.

"What are you wearing?" Scaramouche demands with annoyance as you finally grace him with your presence that evening. It's nothing revealing - oh no, you want to annoy him, not get hurt.

"Clothes."

"You should wear the clothes more befitting of your station. Did the servants not choose something better for you?"

"They did." You answer as you survey the food on the table. Your stomach grumbles. You're hungrier than usual, but he worked you to the bone today. His expression tells you that he's not unhappy but he has to make a coniption anyways. "I was running behind, My Lord. Why make you wait for all the ribbons and ties to be done when this is just as nice and lovely but quick?"

You aren't wrong but there's just one thing -

"And, My Lord, you have impeccable taste in fashion."

You grin when you see a bit of red dust his skin. He clears his throat.

"Whatever. Just - just eat." You've won this round, quite peacefully, too. Normally, he says more words but when you compliment him - rarely - you can sway him as best as you can. The mental tally is updated in your head and you thank him for his benevolence and forgiveness before beginning to eat yourself.

But he doesn't eat - his cheeks still red as he stares at you, watching. Studying.

"I suppose you do look good in my clothes." he says, after awhile. "Don't make this a habit."

"Of course not, Lord Scaramouche."

[kdh-tally]

HII! I'm your biggest fan! And thank you for hard working i love your miromabby headcanons! I was wondering if you could make about Romance and Abby snapping at Mira. Like a challenge that they will snap at Mira only and both of them saying stupid stuff about her that aren't even true i would love to see that!! Tysm if you read this💗💗💗 ily!!

Mira In Her Crashout Era

Prompt : Romance and Abby just don't know when to shut up.

Author's Note : The beginning might seem boring cause I really just wanted to write the ending part :P There will be a part two though!!!!!! And ily2 😚

They were going to die for this. 

“What makes you think this is a good idea?” Abby sighed, rubbing at his temple as Romance replayed a video on his phone.

It was a new trend that had taken over social media. It seemed quite insensitive at first but it was funny. The trend really just was one person snapping and going off on their partner at random times with their poor partner not knowing any better. 

Romance found it hilarious and who better to try it on than their wonderful girlfriend Mira?

“Come on it’s funny”

“You know she’s gonna kill us for this right?” 

“It’ll be worth it. She’s so hot when she’s mad~” Romance smiled wistfully. Abby had to agree with that.

–

The little prank had started. Unfortunately, Abby, as unwilling as he was to participate, was the first to fall victim. He had been making a protein shake in the kitchen for breakfast when Mira walked in. 

His jaw almost went slack as she walked in front of him to grab her purse. She was in this gorgeous black dress that complimented her figure and her hair was left flowing down her back. He remembered her mentioning that she’d be going out with the girls later that day. 

He was about to compliment her when he caught a glimpse of Romance glaring pointedly at him. He sighed, there was no way this was fair. How was he supposed to be rude when she looked like that????

Summoning all the courage he had, because Mira would surely kill him after this, he spoke in the most disregarding voice he could muster, “Is that what you’re going to wear?” He felt the mood in the room shift immediately. He wouldn’t turn to face her, looking right at his drink. He was expecting her to summon her weapon and murder him right there.

But she didn’t. 

“I’ll go change” 

Abby turned quick but she was already gone. He clutched his heart, he could feel it racing, while Romance moved to stand next to him. 

“You’re still alive,” he smirked in disbelief, watching where the pink haired girl had disappeared off to. 

“I’m still alive.”

And just like that, what was supposed to be a small prank turned into their game.

First it was just light jabs, playful insults that made them seem annoying. 

“You always take so long to get ready. This isn’t the red carpet Mira,” Romance would sigh, seemingly disappointed when watching her get dolled up for an award show.

“Don’t get mad but I swapped your playlist with mine,” Abby said nonchalantly as the two were driving back to their home. “Yours is kinda dry”

“You should smile more. You’re kinda scary when you don’t.” What normally would've been a playful joke turned into a jab at her looks. But she didn’t budge. Every time she remained calm would only encourage the two to see how far they could push her. 

On the third day, the comments became more direct.

“You don’t always need to be correcting people. It’s not that deep.”

“Sometime’s I wonder wether we’re your boyfriends or your backup dancers”

“You always have to think you’re right don't you?”

The two felt like geniuses. They truly believed they would've gotten to her by now. Two more days, is what they agreed on. They would drag this out for two more days, and if Mira didn’t react by then, then the game would be over.

–

The fifth and final day came soon enough. It started the same way the others did, quiet digs slipped into casual conversation.

“You don’t have to be so intense all the time,” Romance muttered as Mira flipped through pages of a magazine. “Like... Not everything’s a war.”

She didn’t look up.

“You’re not even fun to be around when you’re like this,” Abby added as he scrolled aimlessly on his phone beside her on the couch. “You’re always on edge now. You used to be so chill.”

She was mid-highlight in her song book when that one landed.

Neither of them noticed the way her grip tightened around the pen. Or how her jaw clenched.

“You probably rehearse your comebacks in the mirror, huh?” Romance said with a small chuckle. “You love hearing yourself talk.”

“Yeah,” Abby nodded. “You act like you’ve changed so much, but honestly you’re just boring now.”

That was it.

The pen in her hand snapped in two.

The air dropped a full five degrees.

Mira stood slowly, so silently that even the couch didn’t creak. She didn’t say a word. She just turned around and jumped at them.

Romance barely had time to react before her polearm materialized, shimmering and crackling with angry, red streaks of cursed light. It slashed down with a force that split the coffee table in half.

“WOAH— MIRA?!” Abby dove back, the blade missing him by mere inches as Mira spun again, hair flying, eyes glowing with fury. She wasn’t holding back. She truly planned on sending them back to the underworld.

“MIRA STOP IT WAS A TREND!”

“YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!” she shrieked, her voice filled with fury.

Another swing missed Romance’s head and hit the wall, embedding the blade deep in plaster and wood.

“CALL FOR BACKUP!” Abby screamed, ducking behind the couch.

Romance fumbled with his phone just as Mira yanked her weapon free from the wall with a scream.

“You mock me, mock everything I’ve worked on, and for what?! For a trend?! You think it’s funny to watch me suffer?!”

Before either of them could answer, the door to their apartment busted open. “MIRA STOP!” Rumi’s voice was the first to break through as she grabbed Mira’s wrist mid-swing.

Zoey appeared a second later, already rushing to help hold her back. The weapon clattered to the floor beside her, dissolving into sparks.

Mira didn’t collapse physically. Her eyes were almost jittery with the way they flickered between both boys.

She was shaking and breathing hard. 

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Rumi held her wrist firmly, jaw tight and Zoey had stepped between them all with her hand still slightly raised, just in case.

Romance was breathing hard, his back to the wall.

Abby hadn’t moved from where he hid behind the couch.

No one said anything. Not until Mira slowly turned her head, eyes locked on the two idiots who thought this was a good idea.

And then she spoke.

“You’re both actual morons.” She didn’t yell and that might have made it worse. She simply spoke with absolute anger and disgust in her voice.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to knock your heads together this week? How many times I bit my tongue while you two clowned your way around thinking you were being funny?”

Romance blinked. “Wait, you–”

“Shut up.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to talk right now.”

She pointed at Abby. “You. First of all, congratulations. You’re the worst actor on this planet. ‘Is that what you’re gonna wear?’ I should have knocked you out that morning.”

Abby’s mouth opened slightly to speak, but she cut him off.

“‘Dry playlist?’ ‘Smile more?’ Do you guys even hear yourselves? Or are you just that full of your own voices?”

She turned on Romance next. “And you. ‘You always think you’re right.’ ‘It’s not that deep.’ You have never been right a single day in your life and suddenly I’m the problem?”

“I thought that maybe just maybe you two had grown out of being little pests with death wishes, but I guess not. And Abby, you really sat there and backed him up like this was some cute bonding activity?”

Rumi didn’t even try to stop her anymore. She let go of Mira’s wrist and crossed her arms, nodding along.

“You’re both so dumb,” Mira continued, pacing now, angry hands gesturing, words flying like daggers. “Not just for doing the trend, but for being surprised that I didn’t explode sooner.”

“What, you thought I wasn’t going to snap? That it’s just normal to insult your girlfriend for four days straight!?” Her voice got louder with each word.

Romance finally raised both hands, sheepish. “We didn’t think you were trying so hard to hold back.”

Mira whipped around and stared him down like she was deciding whether to summon the polearm again.

“No shit you didn’t think,” she snapped. “Because if either of you had actually paid attention for once, maybe you would’ve noticed I’ve been working my ass off to not react to every little thing like I used to. But I guess that version of me was funnier, huh?”

Abby lowered his eyes, swallowing thickly. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quietly.

Mira let out a humorless laugh. “Then what was it like, Abby? Because it sure looked like you two were enjoying yourselves watching me turn into your little science experiment.”

Zoey looked over at them, arms crossed now, clearly unimpressed.

Silence fell again.

The air still felt heavy. Mira looked like she had one last breath of rage she hadn’t used up yet, but she turned and headed for the hallway instead.

“I’m going to take a nap,” she said flatly. “If either of you say one word to me in the next hour, I’m stabbing you. And this time I won’t let Zoey or Rumi stop me.”

She disappeared around the corner, her door slamming loudly behind her.

Romance finally let out a long breath. “Well.”

Abby nodded slowly. “We deserved all of that.”

“Yep.”

Zoey smirked. “I think she went easy on you.”

Rumi tossed the splintered wood onto the couch with a shrug. “You should get her a new table.”

“And a new mirror,” Zoey added. “She did throw a hairbrush through it yesterday.”

Romance’s face paled. “Wait what?”

“Yea she said she was trying not to take out her anger on you so she took it out on her mirror instead.”

Abby pulled at his hair. 

Rumi grinned darkly. “You’re lucky that’s all she broke.”

[falloutrebellion]

Can I request prompt #4 from the Naruto nsfw prompt list w/ Shikamaru plz?! 🥹

Thank you so much for your request, here is your meal 🫶🏼

Pairing: Shikamaru x F!Reader

Prompt: 4. “You’re being so good for me”

Summary: You are a few months pregnant with Shikamaru's child, and after a week-long mission, he returns, ready to indulge himself 😏

🔞 Mature Content. Minors DNI. 🔞

CW: Pregnant!Reader, Pussy drunk Shikamaru, Fem! Oral receiving, fingering, vaginal sex (basically all the works lol with some praise kinks in there)

Shikamaru's lips crashed against yours with such desperate hunger that you nearly forgot how to breathe. Seven days apart had felt like an eternity, and now his hands were tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if afraid you might disappear.

"I missed you," he whispered against your mouth, his voice husky with need. His hands slid down your sides, fingers tracing the curve where your belly had begun to swell with his child.

"Show me then," you challenged, and his eyes darkened.

Without warning, his hands slipped beneath your shirt, calloused palms cupping your sensitive breasts with reverence. You gasped at the contact, your nipples hardening instantly against his touch.

"These feel bigger," he murmured appreciatively, even though you're sure he's full of shit. Shikamaru's thumbs circling the tender peaks as he guided you backward until you felt the kitchen counter behind you.

With effortless strength, he lifted you onto the cold surface, positioning himself between your thighs. The familiar weight of him pressed against you, but with new carefulness, mindful of your condition.

"Is this okay?" he asked, breaking the kiss to study your face, his lazy eyes now sharp with concern. Even in his obvious desperation, Shikamaru remained attentive.

"More than okay," you assured him, drawing him back to you.

His fingers traced the slight swell of your stomach with wonder. "You're even more beautiful now," he whispered, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw. "Carrying our child... It's such a drag I had to be away from you."

You laughed softly at his characteristic complaint as his hands resumed their exploration, treating your changing body like a sacred text.

"Get this off," he growled, suddenly gripping the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head in one fluid motion. The garment fell forgotten to the floor as his eyes widened, drinking in the sight of your swollen breasts.

"Troublesome woman," he muttered, but the reverence in his voice betrayed his awe. "How did I survive a week without this?"

His mouth descended to your collarbone, trailing hot kisses down to the valley between your breasts. Your head fell back with a moan as his tongue traced lazy circles around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. The wet heat sent electricity coursing through your body, your sensitivity heightened by his desire.

"Shikamaru," you gasped, fingers laced into his ponytail as he moved to your other breast, lavishing it with the same devoted attention.

His hands cradled your back as he suckled, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks that made your thighs clench around his hips. You could feel him hardening against you, his eagerness evident despite his controlled movements. Shikamaru stared up at you, taking in your form as his fingers danced along your chest. “I love seeing you like this,” he says simply before kissing the underside of your breast.

Your cheeks flushed at his words, embarrassment mingling with arousal as he continued his worship, hands kneading your flesh with increasing urgency. His measured pace suddenly broke as a groan escaped his throat, his mouth growing more insistent against your sensitive flesh. Shikamaru's teeth grazed your nipple, making you arch against him as he sucked harder, drawing the tender bud deep into his mouth.

"I can't stop thinking about how they'll look," he panted between fevered kisses, his voice thick with desire. "When they're full... swollen with milk." His eyes locked with yours, dark with possession. “Will you still let me do this?”

You only muster a moan to answer him, arching your back against him. The intensity in his gaze made heat pool between your thighs as his clever fingers slid down your stomach, deftly unfastening your pants. Without hesitation, his hand slipped beneath the waistband, finding you already slick with need.

"So wet for me," he murmured appreciatively, his fingertips circling your entrance before sliding through your folds. "Is this what happens when I'm gone for a week? You get this needy?"

You could only whimper in response as his thumb found your clit, applying just enough pressure to make your hips buck against his hand. His mouth returned to your breast, sucking rhythmically as his fingers explored you with practiced ease.

"Shikamaru, please," you gasped, clutching his shoulders as he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to find that spot that made you see stars. He pumped a few times before withdrawing, hands wrapping around your hips.

"Not yet, princess. Let's get you to bed.” Hoisting you up, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, nestling your face into the crook of his neck.

“I really missed you,” you say adoringly, earning a light chuckle from Shikamaru.

“Oh, I can tell.” A smirk sprawls across his face as he brings you into the bedroom, gently lying you back onto the bed before shaking off his vest and pulling his shirt over his head to match your state.

You throw him a look, but his expression has shifted to hunger once again as he grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him so he can settle between your thighs.

His fingers trace the waistband of your pants, and with exquisite slowness, he peels them down your legs along with your underwear. The cool air hits your exposed center, making you shiver in anticipation.

"Look at you," he breathes, his voice thick with desire as his fingers part your folds. "So swollen and dripping for me already." He slides two fingers through your slickness, collecting your arousal before bringing it to his lips to taste. His eyes close in reverence. "Fuck, I've been dreaming about this taste for seven days straight."

You whimper as he positions himself between your thighs, his hot breath teasing your sensitive flesh. His thumbs spread you open, exposing your most intimate parts to his hungry gaze.

"Your pussy gets even prettier when you're carrying my child," he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss against your inner thigh. "So wet and puffy.” When his tongue finally makes contact with your clit, you cry out, your back arching off the bed. Shikamaru groans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core.

"I missed this so much," he mumbles against your wet heat, his tongue delving deeper. "The way you taste... sweeter now."

His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he devours you with increasing fervor. His usually lazy demeanor completely vanishes as he works his mouth against you with focused intensity. His tongue flattens against your center, making broad strokes that have your toes curling. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging at his ponytail as he moans appreciatively against your sensitive flesh.

"Even better than I remembered," he groans, his breath hot against your throbbing clit. His fingers trace your entrance teasingly before slowly pushing inside, two digits curling upward to find that perfect spot again. The combination of his skilled tongue and probing fingers has you writhing beneath him, your pregnancy heightening every sensation.

"Shika—" you gasp, unable to finish his name as he sucks your clit between his lips while his fingers pump steadily inside you. Your thighs begin to tremble as pressure builds low in your belly.

"That's it," he encourages against your flesh, his free hand splaying across your hip to hold you steady. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart."

His fingers curl more insistently, finding that rough patch that makes your vision blur. Your breathing becomes erratic as his pace increases, his tongue flicking rapidly over your swollen bundle of nerves while a third finger joins the others, stretching you deliciously.

"Oh god— yes!" You cry out as the tension snaps. Your back arches off the bed as waves of pleasure crash through you, but Shikamaru doesn't stop. Instead, his fingers press deeper, curling with precise pressure as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit.

"I'm not done with you yet," he smirks against your sensitive flesh, his hot breath making you shudder. "Give me more."

His fingers work magic inside you, finding that special spot that makes your thighs quake. The pressure builds again, more intense than before, a tightening coil that winds impossibly taut as his tongue flicks faster.

"I can't—" you pant, but he only intensifies his efforts, adding a third finger and stretching you wider.

"You can," he commands, voice husky with desire. "Let go completely for me."

Something inside you breaks free as his fingers hook upward with perfect pressure. Your vision whites out as an overwhelming wave crashes through you. A strangled cry tears from your throat as your body convulses, and suddenly you're gushing around his fingers, hot liquid rushing out as your pussy clenches rhythmically.

Shikamaru groans deeply, the sound almost animalistic as your release floods his hand and mouth. Far from deterred, he seems possessed, lapping hungrily at your flowing arousal, drinking you in with desperate fervor.

"God damn," he rasps, looking up at you with wild eyes, his face glistening with your essence. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

His body trembles with barely restrained need as he rises above you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he swiftly removes his pants, positioning himself at your entrance. His eyes meet yours, dark with hunger yet soft with devotion.

"I can't wait anymore," he whispers, voice strained as he guides himself to your slick heat.

The blunt head of his cock parts your folds, stretching you deliciously as he sinks in with agonizing slowness. Your breath catches at the exquisite pressure, your heightened sensitivity making even this gentle intrusion overwhelming.

"Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving yours as he seats himself fully inside you. "You're so tight... so perfect around me."

He remains still for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the sensation of being joined again after a week apart. His forehead drops to yours, breath mingling with yours as he begins to move with careful, measured thrusts.

A moan escapes your lips as he withdraws almost completely before sliding back in with deliberate precision, his pace torturously slow yet devastatingly deep.

"That's it," he murmurs against your ear, his voice hoarse with approval. "You're being so good for me."

His praise sends a shiver down your spine as he maintains his unhurried rhythm, each thrust calculated to hit exactly where you need him most. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into tanned skin as pleasure builds steadily within you.

"Shikamaru," you gasp, tightening your legs around his waist. "More... please. I need you to go faster."

His eyes darken with desire, but concern flickers across his features. "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you or the baby."

"You won't," you assure him, cupping his face. "I need you. Please."

A groan rumbles in his chest as he nods, adjusting his position slightly. He hooks one arm under your knee, opening you wider while his other hand grips your hip.

"Tell me if it's too much," he whispers before picking up his pace, his hips snapping forward with new urgency.

The change in rhythm sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. Each thrust is still measured, still controlled, but now delivers the intensity you've been craving. Shikamaru watches your face intently, reading every microexpression to ensure your comfort even as he gives you what you need.

"Damn, you're beautiful," he pants, his thumb brushing your cheek tenderly even as his hips maintain their quickened pace. "So perfect taking me like this."

His hand slides from your back to your swollen belly, caressing the curve with reverence even as he pounds into you. The dual sensation of his passionate thrusts and gentle touch creates an intoxicating contrast that has you moaning his name.

"That's it," he encourages, angling his hips to drive deeper into you. Your inner walls clench around him, drawing a guttural moan from his throat.

"You feel so good," he groans, his composure finally slipping as his hips begin to snap forward with an increasing rhythm. The bed creaks beneath you as Shikamaru's thrusts grow more frantic, his careful control giving way to primal need. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you against him with each powerful drive.

"Yes," you cry out, the new pace sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your heightened sensitivity makes each thrust feel electric, your nerves singing with each slide of his cock inside you.

"I'm not going to last," he warns, his voice strained as sweat beads on his forehead. "You're squeezing me so tight." His hand finds your clit, circling the swollen bud with his thumb as his pace becomes punishing. The dual stimulation has you arching off the bed, your body tightening like a bowstring about to snap. "Come with me," he commands, his eyes locked on yours, dark and intense. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

The coil of tension inside you winds impossibly tight before shattering completely. Your vision blurs as pleasure explodes through your body, your walls pulsing rhythmically around him.

"Shikamaru!" His name tears from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you, your inner walls clenching around him in pulsating waves. The intensity of your climax triggers his own release, his rhythm faltering as he drives into you one final time.

"Fuck—I'm coming," he groans, his body tensing above yours. His fingers dig into your hips as he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills his seed. The sensation of him throbbing within your sensitive walls prolongs your pleasure, making you whimper and shake beneath him.

For several moments, you both remain frozen in ecstasy, connected in the most intimate way as your bodies shudder through the aftershocks together. Shikamaru's forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in ragged pants that match your own.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips, pressing a gentle kiss there before carefully withdrawing from you. He collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms so that your back presses against his chest, spooning you.

His hand slides protectively over the small swell of your belly, fingers splaying wide as if trying to encompass all of the new life growing within you. The tenderness of the gesture brings tears to your eyes.

"Both of you," he murmurs into your hair, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "I missed both of you so much."

You place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers with his, and a contented smile on your face.

[oneforthemunny]

if i knew then |ex-husband!eddie munson x ex-wife!reader|

prompt: a collection of flashbacks from before.

contains: angst. like idk how else to say it- ow ow ow angst. all flashbacks. teen pregnancy, unexpected pregnancy. shitty judgy people. insecurities. dream crushing. fighting. language. really just bittersweet angst. chaos. they're so not good and immature in these. also might be a part one to a two part series.

October 17th, 1985

“We’re gonna get caught, Eddie.” Your heart trilled, heavy and hard at a thundering pace, his hand holding yours so sweetly, guiding you through the small patch of forestry that led to the football stadium- you hoped he couldn’t feel how your palms were beginning to sweat. 

“Who’s gonna catch us?” Eddie turned, chin hooking over his shoulder to give you a teasing grin. He pushed back a limb, unbothered that the branches were undoubtedly scratching at his leather jacket. “No one’s gonna be out here unless they’re doin’ the same shit we are, sweetheart. Promise ya.” 

Your tummy flipped with an adrenaline rush of heat, squeezing his hand tighter, moving closer to him as the dirt path turned to broken concrete, the Hawkin’s High School football stadium vacant of light, but bleachers standing high in the moonlight. 

Eddie moved towards the back side of the chain link fence, to the corner, heavy boot sliding under the exposed chain metal, lifting it so it peeled upwards. “After you,” Eddie bowed playfully, nodding towards the small gap. 

Your lips twisted, heat pricking at your cheeks. “I should’ve worn pants, I guess.” You muttered, hands smoothing over the skirt you’d chosen instead, despite the chilly temperatures. You knew Eddie liked you in a skirt, eyes always lingering and flickering towards your exposed legs. Even before you were ‘official’, you’d always catch him looking during fourth period. 

“‘S alright,” Eddie shrugged, lips puckering and pulling into a smirk he tried to hide. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

“Eddie,” You hissed, a trilling squeal of excitement in your tone, looking over your shoulder as you shimmied through the small space, careful not to pick your sweater. 

Eddie grinned, though you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted, catching a peek as you crawled in. He followed you closely, expertly sliding in before the chain fencing snapped back into place. You wondered how many times he’d snuck in here before. Maybe he was the one who made the hole in the fence to begin with. If he’d brought any other girls with him before. 

Eddie’s hand found your back, sliding over to your hip, pulling you close into him. “See? No one’s here.” Eddie nodded, motioning towards the empty rows of bleachers, the vacant football field. “You can relax now, baby, told you no one would be here.” 

“Yeah?” You hummed, leaning into his chest, warm cotton brushing your skin. “Guess I should trust you. Seems like you’ve done this a few times before.” 

Eddie’s chest rumbled with a laugh, squeezing the fat of your hip. “Only a few.” 

“Yeah? With who?” You scoffed lightly, brows pinched when you looked up at him. 

Eddie’s brows raised in amusement, lips rolling and biting back a grin. “Really hot chick, ya know? Her name was Gareth.” Eddie snorted in laughter. “I’ve only been here one time, last year with Gareth. We spray painted Kimmy Frank’s number on the field, wrote ‘call for a good time’ under it after she stood Jeff up at homecoming.”

“That was you?” You gawked. 

“Yeah,” Eddie smirked proudly. “She deserved it. Asked him out and got him all excited, then laughed at him when he showed up. Said it was a dare and called him names. Really fucked him up, ya know? So we thought we’d embarrass her.” 

“It definitely worked.” You muttered, passing the twenty yard line that stood out from the others with a fresh coat of paint, from Eddie and Gareth’s handiwork. “Didn’t the Franks have to change numbers because so many people were calling?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie snorted with a laugh. “I might’ve put it in the stall at The Hideout, too.” 

Your heart skipped, stomach dropping with the same prickling rush of fear and excitement it always did when you were with Eddie. The head reeling, mind numbing kind of rush that had you brainlessly going into any situation with him. 

“Here,” Eddie pulled you from your own thoughts, stopping at the center of the field. “This feels like a good spot.” 

“Eddie-” You looked around, towards the fence then the other side. You were so exposed, right in the middle of the field, for anyone to see. 

“-Baby, I told you, no one’s gonna come. Believe me.” Eddie hummed, shimmying off his jacket. “It’s not like this is Fort Knox or somethin’. It’s a public high school. No one’s giving a shit who’s here.” 

You bit at your lip, rolling it around as you tugged at your fingers, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach. It had been growing and growing since you first decided to sneak out, after your parents had gone to bed, slipping through the window and running down the quiet street towards Eddie’s can parked on the corner. 

“C’mon,” Eddie muttered, cold hands catching your jaw, the metal of his rings meeting your own wind bitten cheeks, pulling you into him. “I’m not gonna let you get in trouble.” 

“I feel like you are the trouble.” You muttered, your body betraying your brain, letting yourself slip into his hold, hands pulling at his shirt. 

Eddie grinned, lips barely brushing before they captured yours, pulling you into him. Hands pulling at your clothes, your hips, sinking onto the cold grass. Eddie laid you back on his leather jacket, a gentleman, you mused. Shoving his pants and boxers around his thighs, he flipped your skirt up, lips still pulling at yours as he rutted into you. Your head spun, dizzy with excitement and pleasure, fists balling at the fabric of his shirt, hoping the sun would stay gone forever so the night would never end. 

July 28th, 1986

“Holy shit,” Eddie muttered, cradling the can of Similac. “Is there not a knock off version of this?” 

“No,” You hissed, rocking Jude close to your chest. 

You could feel the judging eyes of the couple beside you. Their baby in a stroller, cart full of diapers and groceries, the woman’s left hand adorning a rather large diamond, the man clean cut in a suit and tie. The polar opposite of you and Eddie, two scraggly looking teens with a two month old baby, and an empty cart. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just get some of Marsha’s milk?” Eddie asked, turning to look at you. “She said she’s overproducing anyways, and she’d give you some bottles since you’re not-” 

“-Eddie,” Your body burned with embarrassed heat, tensing as the others in the aisle turned, lips pursed in disapproval. “Just get the formula.” 

“Baby, this is two-fifty a can. Marsha said she’d give it for free. I don’t see why you wouldn’t just take that.” Eddie said, trying to rationalize with you. 

The older woman beside you scoffed, her nose sticking in the air in disapproval as she turned to the young girl beside her. “And that’s why you don’t have a baby before you're married. You don’t want to end up like these two.” Her eyes narrowed towards you and Eddie. “It’s unfair to the baby.” 

Your heart stopped, fell into your stomach, your breath leaving with it. You thought you’d be used to this- the dirty, judgy looks when you went to prom nearly nine months pregnant, or when you barely made it to graduation after you had Jude three days prior. Still, it felt like a suckerpunch to your sternum every time. You’d blame the consuming shame as the reason you barely left the house now. 

“Lady, mind your own fuckin’ business, alright?” Eddie snapped, a growl in his voice that left her jumping, hurriedly pushing the cart down the aisle. 

You didn’t dare look to the couple beside you, but you could feel their judgment burning through you. Jude had begun to fuss the moment you entered the store, picking up on your apprehension that left him unsettled, until he finally began to cry. 

“Shit,” Eddie muttered, looking down at the baby, his face beginning to scrunch with the warning of a wail. “Here, take him to the car and I’ll check out.” 

“No, I can check out.” You shook your head, overwhelmed with the interaction from before and now this. “We still need diapers.” 

“I can get diapers-” 

“-No.” You snapped, teeth baring in irritation. “You always get the wrong size. I can get them.” Your voice was harsh, stilling Eddie and you both with shock in the aisle. 

Jude’s whimpering cries were beginning to grow louder over the beating of your heart thundering in your ears. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, looking down at Jude, then back at Eddie. “I just… I need a second.” 

Eddie nodded slowly, pulling out his wallet and passing it to you. “I got him.” Eddie muttered, slowly taking Jude from your arms. “I’ll be in the van. Take your time, baby.” He pressed a kiss to your head before he left you. 

You felt nearly robotic, pushing down the aisles towards the diapers. The dirty looks were gone, they left with Eddie and Jude, but a suffocating feeling of guilt took its place. The woman’s words ringing in your ears, unfair to the baby. Maybe it was, your mind screamed, as you stood in line at the check out. Maybe it was unfair that you couldn’t afford the luxury swaddlers, or that you couldn’t even produce enough milk to feed Jude. Maybe your parents were right, you had made a mistake. 

“Do you have any coupons?” The teenage cashier dead panned, a bored look in her eyes as she pulled you from your thoughts. 

“Oh, yeah- yes, I do.” You muttered, flipping through Eddie’s wallet for the coupons you’d clipped out of the newspaper this week, handing them over with a shame you were unsure of. 

The cashier punched in the number, the register dinging as the total rolled over at the top. “Twelve- seventy-two.” She muttered. 

You pulled the ten dollar bill out, heart sinking as you flipped through the contents, the folds and flaps of Eddie’s leather wallet. Where was the five you put in here last night? You know you gave it to him- 

“Ma’am,” The cashier huffed. “It’s twelve-seventy-two.” 

“I-I know.” Your chest tightened, lungs constricting. “I-I know I had more. I-I’m sorry, I just- I know I put it in here-” 

“-Ma’am, if you don’t have enough-” 

“-No, I have enough.” You snapped, startling the cashier. “I just- I know I put it in here, just-  Are you sure you added the coupons?”

“Yes,” The cashier snapped. You could feel your heart thundering in your chest, ears ringing, hands trembling. “Lady, I’ve got a line. If you don’t have the money, I’m going to have to ask you to leave and you can come back when you have enough.” 

“I can’t-” You pressed your eyes shut, your voice shaking. “H-How much without the formula?” 

“Just the diapers?” The cashier huffed. “Eight dollars and seven cents.” 

“Fine. I-I’ll just get those.” You muttered, eyes cutting to the line behind you. 

“Just the diapers?” The cashier asked, brow lifting with annoyance. 

“Yes.” You muttered, hands shaking when you reached for the ten dollar bill, eyes pricking with tears.  

“That will be eight dollars and-” 

“-Add the formula back on.” A voice behind you said softly. 

You jumped, turning towards the woman behind you. “I’ll pay for them.” She said softly, giving you a gentle nod. 

“No, no, I-I couldn’t ask you-” 

“-You didn’t.” The woman shook her head, sliding the twenty dollar bill over to the cashier. “Everyone needs a little help every now and then, and I’m happy to help.” 

Your lip trembled, jaw clenching to keep in your tears. “Thank you.” Your voice was broken, a barely there whisper that burned when it made its way out of your chest. 

“Don’t mention it.” The woman waved with a smile. “How old is your baby?” 

“T-Two months.” You croaked, sniffling back a wet sob. 

“A fun age.” She grinned. “Two months is great, but two years- ooh.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “That’s when they become little gremlins.” 

The cashier handed back the change, passing you the bagged formula and diapers. “Please, let me at least give you some money, an-and I can pay you back the rest by the end of the week, I swear.” You rambled, reaching for a pen off the counter, flipping your receipt over. “If you give me your name, an-and phone number, I’ll-” 

“-That’s not necessary, dear, I promise.” The woman shook her head at you lightly. “But if you don’t mind me asking, are you working?” 

Your chin ducked, spinning the pen around in your hands. “I-I waitress during the week at Benny’s. It’s been hard finding a job, because…” You looked down at the groceries, voice tightening in your throat. 

The woman nodded, reaching for the pen in your hands. “Well, if you’re interested in something else, I work at Vance Insurance and we’re looking for a receptionist.” She scribbled an address on the back of your receipt with her name- Sheila. “We just need someone young who knows how to work the phones, and can help us transfer calls, schedule appointments. Is that something you can do?” 

“I- Yes, I can do that.” You nodded furiously. 

“Wonderful.” Sheila grinned, passing the pen back to the cashier. “Stop in anytime this week and they’ll interview you. It’s a good starting place, good benefits- especially for a baby.” 

“Thank you,” Your eyes watered, brimming with tears that fell slowly down your cheeks. “I just- I can’t thank you enough, really, this is too kind-” 

“-Everyone needs help sometimes.” Sheila repeated gently. “I was you not too long ago, just needing some help. Like I said, I’m happy to help.” 

You nodded, clutching the receipt in your hands as you walked towards the sliding doors of the entrance. You held onto the receipt, buried it deep in your pocket until Monday morning. 

February 2nd, 1989

“Motherfucker,” Eddie hissed, ringed hand slapping down on the sticky table top. “A dollar?” 

“C’mon, ‘least it’s somethin’, right?” Darrel snickered from beside Eddie, bussing the booth next to him, emptied beer glasses splashing in the bin. “Could be nothin’ like that table before.” 

“Bunch of assholes,” Eddie grunted, shoving the dollar in his pocket. “Dude has a BMW and can’t tip more than a dollar?” 

“Those are the worst kinds, man.” Darrel shook his head. “Ones with the most are the stingiest.” 

“You’re tellin’ me.” Eddie scoffed, shoving the emptied bourbon glass in the bin. “That’s why I quit workin’ at Elroy’s.” 

“You quit at Elroy’s?” Darrel gaped. “When? I thought you just started that job, man, what happened?” 

“Psh, he’s a dick.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Had me doin’ all the dirty work, making nothing, while he’s making six figures and just sits there bitching at all of us nobodies.” Eddie shook his head. “I got sick of it. I’m not working for some asshole and making no money. Besides, it was cuttin’ into my time playing here.” 

Darrel nodded slowly, head shaking with a shrug. “Yeah, that’s… That’s tough, Ed.” He hummed. “What about the Mrs? She pissed at you for quitting another job.” 

“No,” Eddie snapped, far too quickly and too defensively for it to be true. Pissed was an understatement. You’d had a fight so big, so loud, the neighbors two trailers down had to come check on you. 

“This is the third job this year, Eddie!” You had roared, throwing your arms out. “How the fuck are we going to afford a house when you keep doing this shit?” 

“Will you relax? We’ll be fine, we’ve always been fine. I’ll find another-” 

“-We’ve always been fine because I have a job.” 

“Baby, when I make it big, you won’t have to work. I’ll take care of us- all of us, ok? I’m working on it. I’ve gotten a bunch of gigs in Indianapolis-” 

“-That don’t pay.” You sneered. “That you spend more money on gas to get to than you actually make-” 

“-You gotta spend a little money to make money, baby. That’s business!” Eddie huffed, throwing his hands up. It was the same fight, it always was. 

“Spend what money? My money?” You scoffed. “Taking money away from Jude so you can, what? Play pretend rockstar? Grow up, Eddie!” 

That had been three nights ago. You hadn’t talked to Eddie since then. He’d slept on the couch every night since the fight. 

“Look, I-I got another job lined up.” Eddie bristled, shaking his head, trying to drown out your cruel words still ringing in his head. “I’m playing for Oktoberfest at this bar in Indianapolis. There’s gonna be a shit ton of people there, and who knows? Could be a producer or someone there to sign us. The guy over there said they’re always coming in from Chicago, seeing what talent is around.” 

“Oh, it’s a gig?” Darrel looked at him, not nearly as excited as Eddie thought he would be. “Not a job.” 

“I mean, yeah, it’s both-” 

“-You’re gettin’ paid?” Darrel lifted a brow. 

“Yeah, it’s not- it’s not much. Like fifty bucks, but that’s not with tips, and they cover my tab for the night.” Eddie stuttered defensively. It sounded like a much better deal when the owner pitched it to him. 

Darrel nodded slowly, fingers tapping on the bin. “Well, good luck then.” He muttered, wiping down the table. “But, uh, if there’s not a producer or whatever, you know my cousin is still looking for help with his HVAC business. If you’re ever looking for anything.” 

Eddie’s chest burned with furious heat, scoffing as he pulled away, moving to the next table. Who the fuck does he think he is? Eddie fumed, jaw set tight, teeth grinding with fury. 

The rest of the night wasn’t better, despite the crowd. Eddie pocketed a solid thirty-seven dollars, and some change an asshole at the corner booth left. He cut it down thirty-six dollars before he made it home, stopping by the liquor store for a pack of Camels. 

Eddie was surprised the living room light was still on when he came in, quietly shutting the door in case you and Jude were asleep on the couch again. 

“Baby,” Eddie whispered, creeping into the room. He found you sitting, awake, on the couch, arms crossed over your chest, eyes red rimmed and glassy. 

“Oh, I thought you were asleep.” Eddie muttered, voice still hushed as he shook off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch. 

Your lips pursed, arms still tight across your chest. “Jude is with Wayne tonight.” You said, though your voice didn’t carry the usual purr it did when you’d told him that before. Tonight, it was filled with icy malice. 

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie grinned, leaning over the couch towards you, arms wrapping around your frame, face pressing into your neck. “Good. I’ve had the worst fuckin’ day, and I’ve missed you. Missed sleepin’ in the bed with you, baby.” His lips tugged at your ear lobe, teeth grazing your skin. 

“Stop, we’re not…” You huffed, pushing him off you gently, standing from the couch. “We need to talk, Eddie.” 

Eddie’s heart dropped, sinking deep in the pit of his stomach. “Talk? About what?” His shoulders slumped, gripping the back of the couch with an exhale of exhaustion. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it when I said that. I was just pissed, and… C’mon, you know I’d never really mean tha-” 

“-I’m pregnant.” Your words echoed through the small living room of the trailer, a silence settling around the two of you after that. 

Eddie’s mouth opened then closed, words strangled in his throat. “Pregnant?” Suddenly he was eighteen again, heart stilled in his chest, ears ringing with what he was sure was delusion. 

“What- I mean, how- No, I-I know how, I just…” Eddie swallowed around the thick lump in his throat, head spinning with the news. “That’s-That’s great.” 

Your choked sob startled him, left him flinching as your hand moved to your mouth, muffling your cries. “Hey, hey, what’s- Baby, don’t cry.” Eddie soothed, his voice calmer now than it was four years ago. 

Your wet cheeks pressed into his shirt, the overwhelming scent of stale cigarettes making you retch and gag. He should have known you were pregnant a week ago, when he’d slipped in the bed beside you after a night shift at The Hideout and you had gagged, shoved him out of the bed and told him to shower. “I can smell smoke in your hair, Ed. It’s giving me a headache.” 

He let you go, back away from him with a cry that turned into a gag that faded into a cough then back to a sob. “What’s wrong?” Eddie hesitated, his hands reaching out to you then back to his sides, unsure of what to do. “Why-Why are you crying? Are you not- I mean, hey, at least we’re married this time and… and adults.” 

He thought the little joke he made might calm you down, soothe you a little, not send you into another wave of sobs. Face crumbling, shoulders shaking with tears. “What- Why are you crying?” Eddie’s brows furrowed, reaching out for you. “Are you- Are you not happy?” 

“No,” You spat, sniffing back a wet cry. “I mean, yes but…” Your teary eyes met his, lip shaking with a cry you tried to swallow. “I-I don’t think it’s the ri-right time.” 

Eddie frowned. “Well, it’s a little late for that, sweetheart.” His hand rubbed over your arm soothingly. “What’s the matter, hm? What’s got you upset? This should be a good thing.” 

“Should be,” You spat with a wet sob. “Eddie, we barely make it as it is, and…and we’re never going to be able to afford two kids when you won’t stay at a job.” Your breath hitched, the harsh truth you’d kept in for months finally tumbling out, laying on him thickly in the room. 

Eddie’s lips pursed, tightened in a straight line. “I have a job.” 

“The Hideout is not a job.” You countered. “Not one that can support two kids, Eddie, be serious.” 

“I am being serious.” Eddie crossed his arms defensively. “And it’s not my main job, anyways, you know that.” You fought back an eye roll, the tears flooding your vision instead. 

“Baby, I know it doesn’t pay much right now, but all I need is one chance, ok? One time, just someone out there hearing me play, and-and then everything will change. We’ll be set for life. More than set.” Eddie gushed, reaching out to hold you. 

His eyes were wide, wild with the same excitement they were years ago, when he’d first told you his dream of being a rockstar. But that was before- before Jude, before you’d gotten married, before reality hit you in the face and knocked you on your feet. Before you’d become bitter with the harsh realization that dreams were for the lucky few, and that you weren’t. 

“I can’t…” You pressed a hand to your mouth, taking a deep breath you hoped would calm your nerves, settle your stomach. “Eddie, I- we don’t have time for one day. We have a family right now.” Your tear stained eyes met his. 

“I can’t afford to live off a dream that may happen.” Your lips pressed together, swallowing back a cry. 

Eddie’s face fell, and you could practically see his heart shattering. “What-What are you saying?” 

“That you need to grow up.” Your tone clipped, bitter and cold in the echo of the room. “You have a kid- two, now, an-and it’s not fair to them that they suffer because you want to chase down a dream that might happen.” 

Eddie’s heart sunk, burning with a soul crushing ache he hadn’t felt in years. “What? You think I can’t make it? That-That I’m not good enough?” 

Your eyes closed, taking in a deep, calming breath to steady yourself. “I never said that.” You looked at him. “Maybe if… if things would have been different, you could go out every night an-and play wherever and do whatever, but they’re not. We have Jude and another on the way, and…” 

There was a pause, neither one of you sure how to fill it, what to say. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, willing your tears down. “You have to choose, Eddie.” Your voice shook gently, uncertainty filling each syllable. “If you want to go and make it big, fine, but I am not going to keep bankrolling your trips. Either get a job and grow up and be a father, or go be a rockstar.” 

“That’s so fucked.” Eddie scoffed. “You know that? That is so fucked, and-and manipulative and- You know I love you and Jude, and I’d do anything-” 

“-Then go get a job.” You snapped. “Go get a job and grow up, Eddie. Grow up and be an adult. Stop quitting every five seconds because something is mildly uncomfortable. Do you think I’m happy all the time at my job? No, but I stay because I have to, for Jude and for you.” 

Eddie swallowed back the burn of tears that built in the back of his throat, embarrassment maybe anger spilling hot out of his chest. “It’s time to grow up, Eddie.” Your eyes couldn’t meet his as you walked towards the door. “The choice is yours.” 

Eddie’s fists balled when you shut the bedroom door, stalking towards the front door, slamming it so hard behind him the trailer shook. He fished for his keys, yanking the van door open. You heard the gravel flying, the squeal of the tires following when he tore out of the drive. You squeezed your eyes together, letting out a pathetic sob in the still and silent room. 

Hours later, long after you’d cried yourself to sleep, you felt the bed dip. You smelled the smoke before you felt him, sliding next to you under the sheets, Eddie’s hands finding your waist. 

“I called Darrel.” Eddie said into the quiet darkness of the room, his voice hoarse with emotion. “His cousin said I could start Monday.” 

You turned, blinking with burning eyes, still raw from tears. “Really?” You croaked. 

Eddie swallowed before he nodded, and you pretended not to notice the way his lip shook. “You’re right. I…I need to grow up and be a man- be a better husband and father to Jude and the baby.” His voice was tight. 

Your words rang through Eddie’s head every day he got up, dragging himself out of bed and to work. What started as a motivating mantra, something he’d chant in his mind to get him through the tiresome shifts slowly became tainted, fading into a bitter, mocking reminder. Every time he’d pass by The Hideout, seeing the next gaggle of wannabe rockers on stage. Every time the radio would play a new band, someone his age who had gotten lucky, been at the right place at the right time and got discovered. He’d stew over it, fuming about how that could have been him. Resentment building that he tried to swallow down, the painful reminder of what could have been.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 13

Jason Todd + Masks or Helmets

Hi guys, hows everyone doing lately? Im tired, but what else is new. Such is the waters of life, or whatever they say. I have no idea where I was going with this, enjoy. Kind of goes hand in hand with the Jason prompt from last year, which you can read here. This is more focused on their relationship, so it might be a little bland.

2024 kinktober masterlist.

What you and Hood shared didn’t have a name. you weren’t officially dating or anything, but you only messed around with each other, if that made sense. He got you stuff in leather, and let you fondle his body, when and when he wasn’t wearing that latex bodysuit. It got you both going, and helped keep the edge off when things got annoying. Plus, he was hot as hell, even if you had never seen his face.

Him wearing his helmet always seemed to add a bit of an edge to what you two did, especially when your hands followed the shiny surface of the black latex suit he wore, only to see it follow up under the helmet. There was a small seam just below his head, before the helmet started, but that was all. It left you almost dizzy just thinking about it, wondering what was beneath it all.

Of course, you didn’t get to see beneath it for a long time, even when Hood got wacked hard enough in the head that he could barely stand on is own two feet, and you had to drag him to Leslie’s. Leslie was used to seeing you, both of you. You liked to fight, and Hood just always ended up fighting whether he wants too or not. All the leather you wore was pretty damn recognizable too, making you a memorable sight.

At least, it would have made you memorable, if this wasn’t Gotham. Most folk were too busy trying to survive this shithole to worry about what anyone wore, only checking if it was the uniform of some rogue or gang, before going on their way. The red streaks to your outfits were enough to let people know you were one of Hoods, and that’s all they needed to know.

You knew Joker had gotten out some days before, and that he had finally been picked up by the bats again, after causing more death than that clown should be allowed too. You hadn’t even needed to check the news or anything, since Hoods pacing and ranting was enough to tell you that the clown was out again. If it were up to you, then Joke would have been dead a long time ago, would do a lot of good in your opinion.

It got to a point where you felt like Hood was gonna burst a blood vessel, so you had to resort to the good ol, rub his torso and try and calm him down. He was wearing the same latex as always, his angry breathing loud enough for his helmet to pick it up. Hood sounded like some kind of angry dragon about to breath fire all over you, or maybe that was just you making things up.

The helmet was blank, the white eyes doing nothing but staring at you with no feeling or tell of what was going through his head. You had learned some of his tells over all the time, at least what Hood allowed you to see of him. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to know when he was angry, stressed, sad, or whatever else he might feel that could hinder him as a leader.

Him leaning his head back to flash his latex covered throat was a bit new though, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled loudly, clearly debating on something inside his head. Hood had a lot of thoughts, a lot of it that he never shared with any of you and kept to himself. That was just how Hood was, he had at least gotten better at sharing when something could involve you guys, sometimes.

You almost wanted to pull your hands off his torso where they had been rubbing his stomach through the shiny material, when he reached up to grab his helmet. It felt illegal to see what was beneath it, your hands tensing up with the instinctual want to cover your eyes. Seeing Hoods face felt so wrong, like something you should never be allowed to do.

It left you a bit stumped as the helmet came off, only to reveal… another mask. Or rather, another hood. You didn’t know too much about the whole, gimp culture, at least you thought it was one of those masks. Except it had some kind of mesh material covering his eyes and mouth, still leaving his eyes a mystery to you.

You were speechless, and you were rarely speechless. Hood barely looked like himself as he shucked his jacket and shirt off, herding you backwards until you were sitting in his chair, in his office. Having someone as large as Hood kneeling between your knees was still new and uncomfortable in its own way, but also nice, good.

He clearly didn’t want this to go anywhere, as he avoided rubbing against the obvious hardness sticking to your thigh through the tight material of your leather pants. Instead, Hood just pressed his forehead against your knee and sighed loudly, rubbing his head from side to side, like he just needed something.

With slight hesitation, you finally just decided to say fuck it. There was a guy in the sewers who looked like a crocodile, a chick who controlled plants, and you were pretty sure there was a bird cult in the city. So, who where you to judge that your boss, who’d clearly shown you that he was into this whole thing, was into this whole thing.

With a soft exhale you just place one of your leather gloved hands on the back of his sleek head, moving it in slow motions back and forth. Rubbing from the back of his head, down between his shoulders, and back up again. It felt almost like scrubbing the hood of a car, not that you legally owned one. But you’d painted and waxed enough cars for the motions to be familiar.

You felt kinda bad comparing your Boss to a car getting waxed, but what he wore left him shiny like one, so you couldn’t really help it. Hood clearly wasn’t gonna get all soft and pliable like you’d seen in videos online, not in some place as dangerous as his office. The only place that was good enough for that was his safehouses, you hoped. The guy needed some time to just turn off his brain and do what he liked, but realistically no place was ever safe enough for that in Gotham.

Sitting here rubbing your crime bosses hooded head wasn’t ever on your plans for the future. But it was nice in a way, if you didn’t think too much about it. There was a familiar throb between your thighs that told you that your body definitely liked it, you just had to turn the thought in your head for a bit, maybe even do some research on whatever it was Hood was into.

Latex, full head covering, and masks wasn’t really your thing, but if Hood was into it enough, then yeah, you’d learn about it. He had always been a nice guy, in the way crime bosses could be nice, and you had this whole, strange relationship going on, which made it worth learning about.

Maybe next time, when he wasn’t this worked up, Hood could actually tell you about it. For now, though, you just sat there and comforted him, in that strange way he seemed to need. But everything in Gotham was weird, so maybe this wasn’t as strange as it felt. Not weird, maybe you should just call it new instead. It was new, and you were happy to explore it with Hood, if he allowed it.

[chimielie]

Hiya! I'm brand-spanking-new here, but I'm always so happy to find other ushijima lovers, I could weep :')

If you're still accepting angst prompts, could I please request "I hope you finally found someone you could love forever, and I never have to see or hear about it" with Ushijima? Thank you, I LOVE angst and this event is truly so fun!

i LOVE ushijima. one of the top guys ever. so glad to have you here & sorry that your introduction to me is my classically late response to asks/requests

Ushijima moved on quite quickly.

It was just how he was. He had never felt much very deeply, almost never overtaken by emotion the way his peers were, only really deeply affected by his very top priorities.

You weren't a priority of his. He had dismissed you time and again, and when you had finally accused him of it, he had shrugged it off. It was true. He didn't feel the violent urge to chase you moving his whole body, the way Tendou described love, he didn't cry with relief when he saw you after an away game like you cried for him.

When you left him, he spent one day lost in the newly-empty apartment, wondering vaguely what he would do going forward, and then he moved on. His teammates and friends found it suspicious, but after months of careful monitoring, they all concluded that yeah, Ushiwaka hadn't cared all that much about you. He just wasn't a romantic person; even though you had been together since high school, it didn't matter to him at all.

He moved on quickly, so it baffled him that seeing you bounce into the same restaurant he and Tendou were eating their semiannual catch-up dinner at resulted in his fork bending nearly double in the grip of his fist.

"Whoa," Tendou said. "Are we gonna have to pay for that?"

Ushijima didn't answer, absorbed in watching over the booth's walls as you smiled at the lowlife holding your hand. It was unlikely you were on this outing platonically. He was aware that a swanky restaurant in Paris such as this one was a hotspot for dates. It was pricey, as well, so it was unlikely that this was your first date with this person either. His knife started to groan under the strength of his right hand. Tendou, looking alarmed, pried Ushijima's fingers apart and lay it gingerly on the table.

"Should we leave?"

Ushijima shook his head mutely. The utter wretch you were with pulled out your chair before you sat and kissed your knuckles before letting go of your hand.

He considered launching Tendou's wine glass at their head. Then he shook himself. What was happening to him? You looked healthy—glowing, actually—and were clearly happy, if the soppy smile on your face was anything to go by. For some reason, the expression made his stomach turn.

When you were together, he had never cared much if you were smiling or frowning. He just liked it when you looked at him, his favorite features your shining eyes.

Your date talked a lot. Wasn't he going to give you room to speak? Ushijima used to enjoy sitting with you in silence, appreciating the comfort of your presence, letting you fill the space when thoughts came upon you.

Tendou's plate was empty. How long had they been sitting here?

You look over and jerk a little in surprise as your eyes catch on him. His breath stops, his lungs frozen in his chest. His face feels weird and hot. You offer him a little smile, too shy to be anything but totally genuine, and turn back to your date.

Ushijima thought he might be coming down with an illness. He told Tendou so, who only grimaced sympathetically and patted his shoulder. He walked to his hotel and, looking up into the darkness of the ceiling from his empty bed, thought for the first time that his priorities needed to be reorganized.

[lovebugism]

How about steve with the prompt "You look so hot today, babe." "Hotter than yesterday?" "Hotter than yesterday." 

ty for requesting xoxo — steve always thinks you're pretty (yes, even in granny panties) (established relationship, fluff, 0.6k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Steve knew you loved him the first time he saw you wearing his socks. He knows you love him still because of the underwear you have on.

It’s perhaps the tamest pair of cotton he’s ever seen you in, covering most of your ass and rising high on your waist. You’ve paired it with a freshly washed body, smelling distinctly clean and radiating with the warmth of your scalding shower. Wet hair, small shirt, no bra, bland underwear.

There’s something so emphatically domestic about the combination. Something soft and angelic, diabolically so. You might as well be telling him you love him without saying a damn thing at all.

“Have I told you how hot you look today?” Steve wonders from the center of the bed, curled in the sheets he hasn’t left all day.

“Uh… not since this morning…” you answer distantly where you stand before the mirror of his dresser. You kiss the tin of your chapstick (‘cause you hate putting your finger in it) and then correct yourself. “Actually, no— you said I looked pretty. Not hot.” You flash him a look over your shoulder, bare-faced and pink-lipped. You leer at him lightheartedly. “So you’re slacking today, Harrington.”

“Well, you look really hot today,” he atones with a crooked smile.

“Hotter than yesterday?”

He thinks for a moment, squinted eyes and jutted lips. Then he nods. “Hotter than yesterday.”

“You said that yesterday,” you scoff.

Steve tilts his head on the pillow, honey hair as wild as his eyes. He smiles, lopsided and pink. “Only ‘cause you keep getting hotter.”

“Well, I think it’s because you’re a boy, and you can see my underwear,” you argue half-heartedly. You cross your arms over your chest and angle your hip to the side, thighs rubbing like a harmony. “And now you don’t know what to do with yourself, like a Victorian child who just saw an ankle.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the half of it. But you’re also just pretty.”

Your nose scrunches. “You’re also just pretty, too.”

“C’mere,” he beckons with outstretched arms and grabby-hands. You gravitate towards him without thinking, crawling onto the mattress on your knees. His hands grip your waist the moment you’re in reach, wrenching you around until your back hits the bed. He smiles when you squeal.

The comforter wraps around his waist when he turns to lay over you. He kisses at your pulse, then gets lost in the way you smell. He runs the tip of his nose over the expanse of your throat. The softness of his barely-there touch makes you shudder.

“You smell good,” he mumbles, burying the words into your skin.

“Cozy by the fire,” you say as you twirl your hands in his hair.

“Hm?”

“Cozy by the fire. That’s the soap I use.”

He hums into the nook of your neck. “Mm. That makes sense. You smell all warm,” he mutters and melts further into you. He’s pressed so intently against your body that the rest of his words are nearly inaudible. “I don’t wanna get off you…”

“Then don’t.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you hold him closer to you. Even if he wanted to move, there’s not a world where you let him.

“I’m not crushing you?”

“Yeah,” you murmur into his temple. “But in a good way.”

He laughs against your pulse. Your heart starts to beat with it. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t make fun of me! I just like feeling you.”

Steve figures he knows what you mean. ‘Cause sometimes he gets jealous of your pillow, all green with envy because he can’t be stained with your scent the same way it can. “Fair enough,” he mumbles.

You linger there for a while. Pinned between his body and the mattress, like a flower pressed in the pages of a book.

[avocado-writing]

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn crush who is so oblivious that they told him with confidence that no one would be interested in them romantically?

yes of course lovely, it’s always a pleasure writing your prompt lists 😊💕

Astarion

definitely thinks you’re joking at first.

laughs, then sees the defeated lag of your shoulders, the way you can’t tear your gaze from the ground.

wants to do his usual blasé retort, but is torn because well. he really cares for you.

I think, after a moment of silence, he reaches out and takes your hand. threads his fingers through yours.

“darling… there is so much of you to love, it’s mesmerising.”

he can’t look at you while he admits this of course, but he feels the way you squeeze his hand in yours and his dead heart skips a beat. 💕

Gale

utterly baffled.

of course someone would love you romantically?

from a practical point of view he just starts listing things off: you’re kind, a good leader, big-hearted, have a strong moral compass…

and then he just lapses into the things he likes about you.

that you’re so lovely. so good-looking. that your hair is nice and your eyes are spellbinding.

only realises he’s gone off on a tangent when he sees you grinning at him, then gets a little embarrassed…

gives you the confidence to press a kiss to his cheek though, and after that he’s beaming for the whole day 🥰

Wyll

shocked. shocked and appalled that you think that way about yourself.

takes you out for a stroll, just the two of you, and ends up waxing lyrical about all the things you have going for you.

he tries not to turn it into a confession but my man is a romantic, and soon he ends up spilling everything.

the way every time you smile at him his heart speeds up and his cheeks get hot. how you deserve someone who’ll be by your side through everything, and he’s not afraid to be that someone despite everything you’ve faced on the road.

he’d keep going if you didn’t muster up your courage and pull him into a long kiss 💕

Halsin

is old enough to understand self-doubt doesn’t just go away in one day. he’s admired you for a while so he tries to start actively courting you.

little gifts appear for you. carvings of your favourite animals, flowers you’ve mentioned liking the perfume of.

he finds a reason to be by your side every day. always tries to make you smile and laugh.

and eventually you realise… oh, what you believed before? about nobody ever feeling romantic love towards you? that was totally wrong. because there is your Druid and you’ve just realised his heart is totally devoted to you.

when you have this moment you immediately run to find him and throw yourself into his arms rom-com style lmfao ❤️

Dammon

“that’s… that’s not true! there would be plenty of people who’d love you.”

you look up into his eyes. they’re soft and sweet, and there’s a desperation behind them as the words come tumbling out of his mouth, too late to stop them.

“I’d love you. I do love you.”

a moment passes. he’s worried he’s messed up.

then you stride across the room to bring him into a kiss and his face gets hot enough to rival his forge… 🔥

Rolan

”don’t be so foolish.”

you’re utterly gobsmacked, because you were being so vulnerable, admitting your worry. “excuse me?!”

he tries to backtrack and make it look like he didn’t just insult you, lol

”there’s nothing wrong with you. you’re… wonderful. anyone would be lucky to have you.”

cheeks a bright crimson, and he’s so bad at hiding his emotions that you clock what this is instantly. it’s a confession.

“oh…” “don’t worry, forget it, I didn’t say anything—!” “rolan, would you like to get a drink tonight?”

he might combust. but he squeaks out a “yes.” because honestly? he was worried about the exact same thing you came to him to confide…

Zevlor

is firm in how silly you’re being, but kind.

holds your face in your hands to get you to look at him.

swears how lovely you are, his words like a pledge. like a prayer.

and when this paladin tells you all this? how could you believe him to be wrong.

maybe someone would love you romantically. gazing into his warm eyes, maybe someone does.

[scary-grace]

#3 for roommates to lovers!! :D

Hi! Thank you so much for this prompt! As I alluded to, I went through two other versions of this fic before settling on this one, so if this ends up not being your speed, that's okay -- let me know and I'll post one of the others.

Prompt: “i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.” No quirks AU, female reader, Shigaraki and the reader are roommates, approximately 3k. ANGST. But with a happy ending.

CASUAL

You hear the key in the lock on the front door and try to scramble up off the couch, at which point the four shots of vodka you’ve taken announce their presence. The first thing to go is your balance, and you bump into the coffee table before tipping backwards onto the couch again. The next is your dignity, when you realize that your roommate and his Valentine’s Day date are about to walk in and see you, on the couch in your pajamas and totally trashed. The third is your control over your emotions. Your face heats up and your throat goes tight and your eyes start to sting, and that’s all before Tomura even opens the door.

Tomura snagged himself a date for Valentine’s Day. A really hot date, Spinner took pains to tell you, like it was something for you to be excited about. Some cosplayer whose DMs he slid into, who dresses up as the slutty version of all his favorite video game characters, who flirts with guys and girls alike but never seems to settle down. Tomura’s friends are all amazed that he was able to pull it off, but you aren’t. You’ve been roommates with Tomura long enough to know that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

And you know he’s got some degree of game. You’d have to, since it worked pretty well on you.

Or maybe your game, as weird and offbeat as it is, worked pretty well on him. However it happened, you’ve been fucking him for the last six months. It started as hooking up to blow off steam, because neither of you had been on a date in forever and you were both too lazy or bad at dating apps to find a booty call. Just a roommates-with-benefits thing. A little recreation. Casual.

You’re not sure where it went off the rails, but over the past six months, you’ve slid from not hanging out except when you’re fucking to hanging out all the time, from bitching about your friends and their love lives to trading loaded glances when it comes up, from texting each other hey you up from your rooms to sleeping in the same bed. It started out as casual, but it’s not casual anymore. At least not to you. You were trying to think of how to raise the subject with Tomura, and thinking maybe of doing it tonight, until he announced out of nowhere that he’s got this date.

You didn’t find out until a couple days ago, and since then you’ve been seething, or at least you tell yourself that the throbbing ache in your chest is seething instead of heartbreak. You’ve played it cool around Tomura, razzing him over the restaurant he picked, offering to let him borrow your hair products if he wants to do something special with it – except then he took you up on it, the bastard, and he left for his date smelling like your leave-in conditioner. Part of you is pleased by that, by the thought that his date might catch the scent and wonder if she really is the only one he’s into. The rest of you thinks about her getting close enough to smell his hair and decides to throw up about it.

You lock your jaw and swallow hard. As terrible as this is going to be, the only thing worse than them walking in on you in the midst of a single-woman cringefest is if they walk in on you throwing up. What’s taking them so long to walk in on you, anyway? Tomura’s still trying to unlock the fucking door. You picture his date pressed back against the door, the two of them unwilling to stop kissing long enough to get into the apartment, and a surge of disgust and anger and hurt hits you harder than the vodka did. Fuck this. You’ve had enough.

This time you’re more careful as you get off the couch, and you’re steady enough on your feet as you cross the room to the front door. Deadbolt off, latch turned, two seconds to brace yourself, and you wrench open the door. You’re expecting the two of them to fall over onto you, so wrapped up in each other that they barely notice the shift from vertical to horizontal. But you don’t see any cosplayer in the hallway, or smell anyone’s perfume. The only person there is Tomura, still dressed for his date, trying to unlock the door with the wrong key.

The two of you look at each other for a moment. You can’t speak for him, but your mind’s gone totally blank. Except for one thing. “That’s the laundry-room key. Not the apartment key.”

Tomura keeps staring at you for another few seconds, then looks down at the key like he’s never seen it before. “They look the same.”

“Yeah. And you’ve lived her for two years. When are you going to suck it up and label them?” Your frustration is starting to spill over, and it gets worse with every second Tomura spends looking at you. Why is he looking at you like that? Like he’s hurt – like you’re being mean to him for no reason, when you’re not even being that mean. You could be meaner. He’s the one who went out and got a hot date without even telling you, when – “Wait, what time is it?”

Tomura glances at his watch, then holds it out to show you. Seven-thirty. Huh. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah.” Tomura takes off his watch and drops it into his coat pocket. “Are you going to let me in or what?”

You stand aside, the wheels turning in your head with painful slowness. Tomura’s date was supposed to start at six. He’s back at seven-thirty. He’s back alone. That’s not what happens with a Valentine’s Day date where things go according to plan, and everything about the way Tomura’s acting right now says that things went off the rails. The last three days, you’ve been proceeding under the assumption that Tomura’s Valentine’s Day would be fuck-on-the-first-date good. It never crossed your mind that it might go badly.

“Are you going to close the door or just stand there like that all night?” Tomura sounds tired, but there’s an edge to his voice. “I guess I don’t have to ask what you’ve been doing. You can’t hold your liquor for shit.”

“And I guess since you’re back already, I don’t have to ask about how your date went,” you return fire without thinking. You shut the door, maybe harder than you meant to, and turn to face Tomura with your arms crossed over your chest, doing everything in your power not to cry. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Do you care?” Tomura picks up the vodka bottle, uncaps it, and takes a long sip. “I don’t think you give a shit.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” you snap on autopilot, but the longer you think about it, the more confused you get. “What have I ever done to make you think I don’t care about you?”

Tomura doesn’t answer. He’s too busy drinking half your vodka in a single swallow, unnerving you even more. “Hey. Stop. Whatever happened on your date, it’s not worth a hangover. I’ll help you, but –”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re off the hook.”

“What?” You’ve always helped Tomura with hangovers, way before you started sleeping together. His body reacts to alcohol like it’s actual poison, and there’s no point since you met him that you’ve ignored him when he needs help. “I’m not on the hook, Tomura. I do that stuff because I want to.”

“So stop wanting to,” Tomura says, but at least he puts the bottle down. “It shouldn’t be that hard for you. You’re good at not doing things you don’t want.”

“What are you talking about?” You can’t wrap your head around it. Tomura’s pissed at you. He’s the one who went on the date. Even if it didn’t go well, he still went on the date, so where does he get off being mad at you? “If you’re going to do this, say what you mean. It’ll be a lot faster, and after what you put me through –”

“What I put you through?” Tomura’s laughter goes jagged. “What do you tell your friends about me?”

“Nothing –”

“Right. Because it’s casual,” Tomura sneers. You’d believe it a lot more if you didn’t see his shoulders go tense, see the tendons in his neck stand out, hear the catch in his breathing. “Because I’m just some loser who’s still hanging around.”

“Because I don’t want to hear them tell me it’s a bad idea!” Your voice pitches upwards, fraying at the edges in a way you hate. “I don’t want to let them take something that makes me happy and ruin it. But maybe I should have, because I hate that I let this drag on so long, and if they’d told me it was a bad idea and I’d listened, then I wouldn’t be –”

“If it’s such a bad idea, then –”

All at once you’re fed up with this. Tired of pretending it’s fine. Tired of listening to him tear into you over something that isn’t even close to true. “I wouldn’t be losing my shit because you went out with someone else on fucking Valentine’s Day!”

Tomura blinks. “What?”

“You heard me.” You can’t look at him right now. You slump back against the door, your arms crossed over your chest, eyes averted. “Don’t come after me when you’re the one being casual. I’m not the one who went out and got a hot date.”

“That’s what you’re mad about?” Tomura demands. You nod, your eyes stinging. “Were you ever going to say that?”

“And out myself as the one who caught feelings? Are you joking?”

“No!” Tomura explodes. You look at him and find him scratching at his neck, hard. “That’s what I wanted you to do!”

It’s your turn to stare blankly, and Tomura’s the one who can’t meet your gaze. He spins away from you, still scratching. “I haven’t slept in my own bed in a month and a half. I can’t fall asleep without you anymore. You make tea for me if you’re the one who wakes up first and I kiss you goodbye if I leave before you do and even the stuff I hate doing is fun if you’re doing it with me. Except it feels like that because I’m in love with you. And you’re only doing it to blow off steam.”

The stinging in your eyes hits fever pitch. You blink and tears slip down your cheeks. “Tomura –”

“I thought if I told you I had a date, you’d say something. So I’d know one way or the other.” Tomura’s scratching slows, from frantic scrabbles to hard digs. “But you acted like you didn’t care at all. So I went on the date and she could tell I wasn’t into it and she gave me a hard time for leading her on –”

You hated his date on principle up until a few seconds ago. Now you’re actually starting to feel bad for her. Being on the other end of Tomura’s disinterest feels awful. “If you liked me, why didn’t you just say it?”

“I didn’t want to out myself, either.”

You both caught feelings. Neither of you wanted to admit it, but now you both have, which would be really nice except for how you got here. “So we’ve been yelling at each other over nothing.”

“I guess.” Tomura’s hand slows still further, the scratches lightening again. “Now what?”

“Uh –” You try to think, but you’re coming up sort of empty. “We just ruined our first Valentine’s Day together. Should we have make-up sex or something?”

Tomura snorts. “There’s not anything to make up. We were both stupid and we both hurt each other. We’re even.”

“That’s not exactly a no on the make-up sex.” You lever yourself off the door and cross the room to him, reaching up to pull his hand away from the side of his neck. The first time you ever tried that, he got mad at you, but ever since he’s let you do it. He lets you do it today, and you kiss his hand. “I just want us to feel better. It doesn’t matter how we do it.”

Tomura’s fingers curl and uncurl, like he can’t decide whether he wants to hold on. “I said I love you. Do you love me, or did you just catch feelings?”

You had that one coming, probably. “I love you,” you admit, and his grip on your hand tightens. “I should probably have warned you before we started hooking up, but I’m kind of shit at this casual thing.”

“Same.” Tomura leans back against you ever so slightly and you plant your feet in a hurry. “What movie were you watching?”

“Something dumb. We can watch something else.”

“Yeah. When we get back.”

“When we get back?” you ask. “From where?”

“It’s still Valentine’s Day,” Tomura says. “And you’re my girlfriend, so I should probably take you out.”

You’re his girlfriend. You’ve never had a shorter define-the-relationship talk in your life, and part of you can’t think past what a relief it is. But you and Tomura have never gone out, anywhere – whatever’s going on with you has stayed here in your apartment, barely even referenced when you’re outside of it. And you’re not exactly at your best. “I’m in my pajamas,” you start, only to realize how dumb it sounds. “I can change. It won’t take long, and I’ll be ready to go.”

Tomura’s grip on your hand tightens for a brief second before he lets you go. “Wait here.”

He disappears into his room, and you take the opportunity to cap the bottle of vodka and wipe your eyes. You never really got into it with the crying, and you can feel it lurking somewhere in the background, ready to ambush you when you least expect it. It’s been a hard night. Maybe it’s okay if you cry a little bit. Crying in front of your roommate-with-benefits is one thing. It’s probably okay to cry in front of your boyfriend.

The door to Tomura’s room opens. “Okay,” Tomura says, and your jaw drops at the sight of him. “Now we can go.”

You didn’t think much about what he was doing in there, but you assumed he was changing out of his fancy date clothes into something more casual. But Tomura’s skipped straight over casual. He’s wearing pajama pants and the League of Legends hoodie you got him for his birthday last year, and you can see the hem of a comically oversized t-shirt sticking out beneath it. As you watch in shock, he tucks his keys and his phone into the front pocket of the hoodie and heads for the door. “Are you coming?”

“Um, yes.” You find your own phone and wallet, detouring to your room to grab a sweater. “Tomura –”

“You look good like that,” Tomura says. He looks you up and down in a way that makes you think that make-up sex might not be entirely off the table. “I was just getting on your level. Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “Let’s figure it out on the way.”

There are other things to figure out on the way, too. Like whose room is going to be your room together, and what you’re going to do with the other one. Like what you’re going to tell your friends, or how Tomura’s going to explain blowing his date with an objectively hot cosplayer so he can go out with you. Like holding hands – which way you like better, and how tight is too tight to hold on, and how fast is it acceptable to grab each other’s hands back after you have to let go.

“This is what got me in trouble,” Tomura says, inspecting your laced fingers as the two of you wait for the train. “Holding hands.”

“How did it get you in trouble?” you ask. “We never really do that at home, except –”

You trail off, your face flushing, and Tomura elaborates. “It was like the third time we hooked up or something. You probably don’t remember.”

You do. It was the fourth time you hooked up, the first time it was spontaneous instead of planned, and you were blowing him on the couch, whichever movie you’d been watching completely forgotten. Tomura was being himself about it, twitching and squirming and making all kinds of pretty sounds that he kept trying to hide, and you glanced sideways at one point and saw his hand, scrabbling desperately at the couch cushions. You had a free hand, so you reached out and held it. You remember being startled at how tightly Tomura held on, surprised at how quickly he stopped trying to be quiet, and when you finally drew back, you were surprised again at how reluctant he was to let you go.

It was weird, but you wrote it off, until the next time you hooked up with him and he went for your hand while he was eating you out. Then it was your turn to hold on too tight.

“I was probably reading into it,” Tomura continues, snapping you out of a set of memories that you’d really rather not be wandering through on a train, “but you doing that – it didn’t seem all that casual to me.”

“Maybe it was never that casual,” you admit. You don’t think you’d have started hooking up with him in the first place if you hadn’t already liked him at least a little bit. “I think I’ll be fine if I never hear the word ‘casual’ again.”

“Casual.”

“Shut up.”

“Casual,” Tomura says again, and you nudge him with your shoulder a little harder than necessary. You’d elbow him, but you’d have to let go of his hand. “We’re going out on Valentine’s Day. Is it casual now?”

He’s joking – mostly. You can tell by the way his grip on your hand tightens, the way his red eyes search your face with a little more urgency than before. “No,” you say, and you kiss him, feeling his lips curve into a smile against yours. “It’s not casual at all.”

[xetlynn]

So I saw that your requests were open and just wanted to request a little something. Idk why this came to mind but could you make something angsty between hospital friend! Viktor x fem!reader. When they first meet it’s purely by coincidence and as they grow older they get closer, but reader’s health deteriorates more and more due to their diagnosis. By the time they both were going to confess it was too late. This can be set in a modern AU or not. Thank you!!

(God im such a whore for angst 😭😭)

oh man oh man oh man. How I love angst. But lowkey think I’m bad at writing it so I’m sorry if I did this dirty😭

Arcane Imagines- Viktor

Twisted Fate

[arcane] [main page]

prompt: in which fate is against you.

“Mom, please.” You roll your eyes, standing up from the hospital bed. “I just wanted to make sure!” She puts her hands up in defense as you just shake your head. “I can get up on my own.” You laugh, picking up your laptop, putting on slippers as you head out of the room. 

“I’ll be in the lounge if the nurses look for me.” You tell her and she nods her head, already tidying up your bed since you left it. You sigh at the clean freak that is your mother, walking down the hallway of the large building. It’s currently 10 pm so you’re hoping nobody’s in the patient lounge so you can do your school work in peace. It’s your senior year of high school. 

You turn the corner and into the comfortable warm colored lights that you say every room should have these types of lights instead of the bright annoying ones. You stop in your tracks though when you see a guy sitting there. He doesn’t pay any mind to you but you frown nonetheless. Wondering if you should head back to your room. 

If you did you’d have to deal with your worry filled mother. In here you’d have one strange guy who’s your age and obviously doesn’t seem like he’s going to bother you. 

You go sit down at the other side of the table that he’s already sitting at. Opening the lid of the laptop and getting started on your homework. 

As the time slowly passes you catch yourself looking at the boy, he was handsome that was for sure. “For someone also in the hospital for a reason you sure stare like an outsider.” He finally speaks up, your breathing hitches. Not expecting him to call you out. His accent also caught you off guard. It was really pretty. “Sorry.” You quickly apologize. 

“Is there something on my face?” He glances up to you with a raised eyebrow, putting down his rubix cube. “No, you just… remind me of someone.” You lie straight through your teeth. 

“Are they hot?” He asks and you smile. “Ehh, not really.” You joke and he places a hand on his heart. “Wow, way to bruise a guy's ego as he’s already clearly down.” He motions to the building the two of you are in and you snicker. 

“What kind do you have?” He inquires, you give him a confused expression. “Cancer, what kind?” He repeats and your mouth goes into an ‘o’ shape. 

“Acute Leukemia.” You answer curtly, pressing your lips together for a moment. “You?” You close your laptop, seeming as you weren’t going to be able to pay attention now. “Same actually.” He puts his hand up and you both pretend to high five one another in the air. “Twins.” You chuckle. 

“I’ve been sick since I was a child, so it’s only my luck that I get diagnosed with Cancer right before I turn 18.” You dramatically huff, leaning back in the chair. “Hah, we really are like medical twins. I had a really poor immune system as a kid. Diagnosed two years ago though. This is hopefully my last.” He crosses his fingers and then you do as well. 

“I hope so as well.” You nod your head. 

And as time passes the two of you grew close, almost inseparable. You two were the only ones who truly understood what the other was going through. Growing up sick as children, having worry warts of mothers. Then to get diagnosed with cancer, the same one might I add. You were grateful for each other. 

You were glad you had someone to warn you about what’s to come, who won’t soften the details like the nurses and doctors. And he would come to the hospital whenever you had to go back. Visiting you until the hours were over. You did the same for him as well. 

Your phone buzzes, you look at the screen hurriedly. It was the day that Viktor gets told if he’s cancer free or not. Today is important. You immediately answer, smashing the ear to your phone. “So!??” You pace back and forth in your bedroom. Antsy and impatient. 

“I uh…am…” He sounds sad and your heart drops. “Cancer freee!!” He excitedly says into the phone and you squeal out. “Yes!!! Congratulations!!!” You scream, laughing loudly. Your mom runs to the bedroom. “It’s gone?” She questions with wide eyes and a curious expression. You nod your head and she cheers, pulling you into a hug. Taking the phone from your hand. “That’s amazing, sweetheart! I’m so so so happy for you!” She tells your best friend and you scrunch your nose, smiling at her. 

Your mom and his had gotten close over the past 9 months since you had befriended Viktor. Now the two might be as close as their kids are. “I need to call your mom. We so need to celebrate this.” Your mom says and you over hear Viktor laugh, agreeing with the woman. She hands the phone back to you. 

“Sorry, she snatched my phone from me like I was some peasant.” You sit on your bed. “Well, it’s not like a peasant if you are one.” He tells you and your jaw drops. “Rude! I’m telling your mom when we go out to Hibachi grill later.” You threaten causing him to let out a snort of a laugh. 

“Hibachi grill?” He asks and you can already see the face he’s making. “Your favorite, of course we’ll be going there.” You scoff, he says a small “true.”

 “I have to go, you were the first call I made. My mom’s forcing me to call my whole family now. “ He groans. “Cancer free but at what cost.” He whines out, you chuckle. “I feel special, see you later.” You say with a smile. “See you.” He hangs up the phone and you stand up, going out to the kitchen. 

“Alright, Hibachi grill at 7, I’ll make a little reservation now.” You hear your mom speak and you bite the inside of your cheeks trying not to laugh. You called it. You knew them too well by now. You open the fridge, pulling out a water. You pinch the cap between your pointer and thumb, attempting to unscrew it but your hand feels too fragile. 

You frown, glaring at the white plastic. Trying it again. Your body was weakening from the first round of chemotherapy. You begged them to wait until after you graduated and now that you had, they set the appointment up and here you are.  You squeeze your eyes shut, throwing the bottle to the ground. “I have to go, I’ll see you at the restaurant.” You hear your mom say in the other room. Her feet heading your way. You look up at her. 

She sees the bottle that’s still rolling across the kitchen. “What happened?” She asked and you shrug your shoulders, going over and grabbing the stupid water filled plastic. “Can you open this?” You hand it over to her. “Of course.” She gets it with ease, your jaw tightens at the sight. Wanting to punch something. 

“So Hibachi at 7?” You change the energy of the room to something lighter, not wanting to hear the whole spiel of getting weaker and how it’s okay to ask for help. “Yeah, but do you need to cancel? I’m sure they’d understand.” She places a hand on your shoulder and you wiggle away. “No, mom. We’re going to celebrate my friend for being cancer free.” You spit out, walking back into your room. Upset that she would even offer that to you. 

It had been a year since Viktor was told his good news and now you’re walking into the hospital together for his appointment to check if that’s still the case with his body. You were bundled in a beanie, scarf and a large puffy jacket. It’s only 40 degrees outside but it was freezing to you. 

Viktor’s mom was supposed to be there but he told you she got caught up with something at work. You questioned it because his mom would never miss something like this. He shrugged his shoulders at your words. 

Secretly he had pleaded with his mom to just go to work so that you’d go with him instead. She knew how he felt towards you so it didn’t end up being a huge fight. Except she didn’t go to work. She stayed home due to her nerves being amped up. Not knowing if her son was going to have cancer again or not. 

The two of you are taken into a room to get the news. He had done all the blood work a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to find out over the phone so here you two are. 

He sits on top of a medical exam bed as you sit in a chair, shivering from still being cold. “You okay?” He asks you and you wave it off. “I’m fine, Vik.” You smile, your teeth chattering as you do so causing him to snicker. “Here.” He takes off his jacket, putting it on your lap. “Extra layer.” He says and you quietly thank him. 

The doctor walks in with a clipboard. “Heyy, Viktor. Long time no see. And you [Name]. Good to see you.” He grins at the both of you and you force a polite smile in return. “You too.” You puff out, holding yourself tightly. 

“So, Viktor. You are still cancer free. No signs of any abnormalities.” He tells Viktor who lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and you clap your hands excitedly. “I only need one last test from you and then you are good to go. And hopefully I will never see you again unless it’s with [name] for the time being.” He motions over to you and you giggle. Every one of the staff knows the two of you are attached at the hip. If one’s there it’s most likely the other one is as well. “Okay.” Viktor stands up, leaving you alone in the room after they walk out. 

You sit there, leaning your head back tiredly. Using the hood of the coat as a pillow. You then feel something warm cover you, you shoot your head up, confused. “Sorry, Viktor told us you were cold.” The nurse awkwardly tells you and you thank her.

The room grows silent once again and you smile, snuggling into the heated up blanket. Grateful for your best friend. Your chest tightens at the thought of him. You were growing feelings for the boy as you spent every day with him. 

And two years later you’re standing there with your mom, Viktor and his mom ringing the cancer free bell. Weakly smiling as Nurses surround you, cheering. Viktor pulls you into his side and you grin up at him. “Now we’re both cancerless!” He squeezes you and you snicker. “Woo!” You rasp out. You currently had a cold so you weren’t all the way there but still excited nonetheless. Your tireless fight is now over. 

“Chinese food tonight!” Your mom joins the hug, Viktor’s mom following along. “Yay!” You beam. 

It didn’t last long though. You got a call about a month later from the doctor. “[Name] [Last Name]?” The lady over the phone asks and you smile. “That’s me!” You say as you were cleaning up in the kitchen. Viktor was currently in the living room with your mom. Getting ready to leave.

“I have some unfortunate news regarding your x-ray results. We have your appointment already set up on Friday for your physical if you want to hear it then unless you’d like to hear it now over the phone.” She speaks and your heart drops, palpitating a few times at her words. “I’d like to hear it now.” Your voice breaks. 

You leaned over the counter using it as support. “Um,” She was hesitant to tell you the news.

 “You have a malignant tumor in your brain, cancerous, it has spread to a point where you’d need surgery and treatment as soon as possible.” She informs you and your shoulders tense up. “The percentage of me living through this?” You quiet your voice as you ask, not wanting to alarm your mother or best friend in the other room. 

“10 percent.” She breathes out and you bite your bottom lip. “How long if I don’t get the treatment?” You vaguely ask but she immediately understands what you’re asking. 

“6 months with treatment and it failing, 3 months without it all together.” She answers your question and a tear slips down your cheek. “I’m not doing it.” You say sternly. “There’s a chance you’d live a long life if you get the surgery-” 

“I will go to my appointment this Friday to speak with my doctor. Have a good night.” You cut her off, hanging up the phone. You hunch over the sink, taking in the information you were just told. 

You’re not going through it again. You’re not making your body suffer more than it has to for only 10 percent. 10 percent!? 

“[Name], I’m heading out now.” A voice speaks behind you and you lift yourself up, forcing a smile. “Okay! Text me when you get home. Love you.” You give him a short hug, knowing if it was a longer embrace you’d break down in his arms.

“Love you too.” He says, leaving the house. Once his car is out of your driveway you collapse to the ground, letting out a loud sob. 

“[Name]!? [Name], what happened!?” Your mom falls beside you, pulling you into her arms. “Three months!” You wail, hiding your face in her neck. “I have three!” Your body shakes and she shushes you, not understanding what you’re talking about.

“Honey, breathe. Breathe.” She pets your hair and you hyperventilate harder, not able to calm down. 

“I- I got a call! From the office!” You shout out, having no other way to get it out due to struggling to breathe. 

She pulls away from you with scared eyes, staring at your face. “[Name], what are you saying?” She questions, gripping your arms. You breathe in through your nose, soothing yourself before speaking. 

“Malignant tumor in my brain. Only ten percent chance with the surgery and therapy. 3 months to live without it, 6 months if it doesn’t work but still do it.” You explain and tears build in your mothers eyes. You squeeze your eyes shut, you think this has to be a dream. There’s no way this is real. 

“You’re  getting the surgery right?” She asks automatically and you put your head down in shame.

“Right, [Name]!? You’re getting the surgery, right?” She cries out and tears spill down your face as you don’t answer her. “You just got the news, you can change your mind. It’s okay!” She talks, mainly to herself. 

She stands up, not knowing what to do with herself. “Don’t… tell anyone. Please.” You look up at her from the ground. She avoids eye contact with you but nods her head. 

On Friday your mom is gripping onto your hand, tears already threatening to fall from her eyes as you sit straight up. Your Doctor doing two knocks before entering. “[Name].” He solemnly nods his head, you do the same in return. “What would you like to go forward with?” He gets straight to the point and you glance over to your mom. She breaks down, looking away from you but not letting you go. 

“I’m not doing the surgery.” You tell him, heart thumping loudly in your chest. His face seems to flicker a sad expression before he takes a loud breath. “Alright, let’s talk about that decision then.” He begins. 

You sit with Viktor, staring at him from across the booth. Taking in all of his features with a small smile. Appreciating his presence. “What?” He chuckles and you shrug your shoulders.

“You just have an interesting looking face.” You say simply and he cocks his head to the side. “What a compliment.” He rolls his eyes playfully and you grin. 

“So, what’d the doctors say about this little sickness you have?” He points to your figure that’s very clearly ill. “Just my body having a weird effect from the medicines I’m still taking.” You lie. 

You hadn’t told him of the death sentence you had received. Or the cancer in your brain. You didn’t want anyone beside your mother to know. She told Viktor’s mom who promised not to tell him. You swore to do it before the third month. 

It’s already been one, the two of you still hanging out frequently, almost everyday. “Ah, so weird. You’re so prone to weird diseases.” He takes a bite of his food and you let out a dry laugh. If only he knew. 

You wanted to tell him how you felt before you were gone. Get it out. It’s been forever of yearning for him. The least you could get is a confession out. Maybe even a kiss from the man you’ve loved for over three years. 

Every single time you go to do it, something stops you. An interruption. Fate screaming at you not to do it. 

And in the second month, you were now in and out of the hospital, growing too weak to where Viktor couldn’t not notice something was truly up that you weren’t telling him. Even his mother seemed secretive.

He didn’t like this. 

You lay in the hospital bed, eyes closed as you rest. Your mom watches your breathing as she sits on the couch in the corner of the room. “Viktor will be here in ten minutes.” She tells you and you hum out.

“Good, I have something to tell him.” You smile softly. You were going to confess. You knew you weren’t going to make it through the week.

 

Viktor presses the button of the elevator, waiting in silence as it goes up to your floor. Holding flowers and your favorite chocolate. He was going to confess. 

The elevator doors open and he steps out, he limps a little more than usual, not having his cane with him. He was trying to walk without it in front of you. Show he’s getting stronger like he’s been saying. He heads to your room 143-V. 

As he gets closer, suddenly nurses and doctors are rushing into your room, he furrowed his eyebrows, picking up his pace to the best of his abilities. “What’s happening!?” He shouts, asking one of the nurses in passing. “I don’t know.” She sadly responds in a panic as she follows after the nurses.

He hears your moms voice, screaming. 

“No! No, no no! She was supposed to have another month!” She pleaded, getting pushed out of the room. Viktor grabs onto her.

“What’s happening!?” He asks, repeating the same question he asked before. “Oh, Viktor.” She cries, pulling him into a hug, crushing the flowers that he held. 

“Wha- what’s going on?” He shakily questions. “She never told you.” She curses you, frowning at the stupid choice that you made. 

A nurse comes out to say they’re working with you, leading them to a private waiting room. The two sit down and your mom explains everything.

Viktor sat there, stunned. Not believing this. Not believing that you wouldn’t tell him this. 

An hour passes and a nurse comes into the room. She looks like she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s about to cry. Her chin quivering. She’s been your nurse since the beginning. Since you first got diagnosed. 

“I’m sorry.” Her head bows and your mother screams out a cry. Viktor’s ears ring. His vision was blurred. 

“You can see her.” She says and your mom goes out but he stays planted in the spot. Not able to move. Not able to register what’s happening. You two were just planning to watch a movie together. To hang out and try this dessert you’ve never had.

The door creaks open and your mom is standing, her face stained with tears. “Go see her before you can’t.” She tells Viktor who nods, getting up from his seat. Shuffling his feet underneath him. Clutching onto the stupid flowers. And the stupid chocolate. He enters your room. Throwing the stuff at your feet.

“How could you!?” He shouts angrily. 

“How could you do this to me!? How could you leave me!?” He falls down to the side of your bed, grabbing onto your lifeless body. His own body finally letting him cry. 

“I was going to confess my love for you! And you die?! What the fuck!?” His voice breaks with every word, it was high pitched and hurting.

The nurses that pass by, lowering their heads. Everyone that knew you in the hospital was heartbroken. They truly didn’t think this was going to happen to you. You were good.

“And you don’t tell me you were dying? I should’ve known something was up, you were so sick! I’m such a terrible friend! I fucking suck, you… You fucking suck.” He bawls, punching the bed repeatedly. 

Your mom goes to him, pulling him into a hug and he clings onto her immediately. “I’m sorry!” He says. “I’m sorry!” He weeps and she shushes him. “It’s okay, it’s okay I promise.” She cries with him. 

Such a twisted, sick fate life had gifted upon you. 

[angelsheartts]

Hi!! I was wondering if I could request the “hope nobody will catch us!” prompt for Angel dust x gn! reader too? Thank you love!!❤️❤️

✩‧₊˚ I HOPE NOBODY CATCH US !! .

(but i kinda hope they catch us, anyways)

#pairing: angel dust, husk, velvette, lute x gn reader

#cw: suggestive content, +18 mdni, cuss words Imao, getting caught in suggestive situations ig?? adam being adam on lutes part, drunk sex?, kind of only fans on velvettes part ngl.

#notes: just got back from vacation, and i do feel kind of inspirational to write on my blog lmao, so here it is! second part of "i hope nobody catch us". did anyone noticed it’s the lyrics from les - childish gambino?

PART l

˖ ˚ ༘✶ ANGEL DUST .

well, it’s kind of ironic how angel dust would actually care if someone would see you both fucking, but it’s just because he actually wants to have something intimate with you, not just some porn video where you both need to act.

today, valentino had given your partner finally a day off, so you both decided it would be the best to spend it together.

as you both were cuddling in his bed, you somehow started teasing him by confessing how you watched one of his adult videos, and how much it had turned you, so it wasn’t a big surprise how you ended having him on top of you.

"that’s kinky for you to say, but keep going" angel dust said, smirking at you while already having your underwear aside "well, at first i saw how you went down on them, and-" suddenly fat nuggets was on the bed looking at you both.

yeah, so after seeing your kid staring at you both, it really made the atmosphere so not hot.

˖ ˚ ༘✶ HUSK .

i mean, husk, and you do have a pretty regular intimate life cause this man is sooo touch starved, but there’s something different about being drunk and intimate to him.

you knew you both had maybe a few more drinks than usually, but that wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

wrong, as soon as you started to feel the alcohol doing its thing, you soon started to feel horny too.

but, who could judge you? seeing your bartender boyfriend also with the same flushed face as you was so hot, you somehow ended on top of the counter, while having your boyfriend kiss your neck.

"Oh, for fucks sake, and everyone says im the perverted one?"

yeah, hearing angel dust words made you both stop, but it didn’t make you stopped once you reached your bedroom.

˖ ˚ ༘✶ VELVETTE .

your girlfriend being a famous influencer in hell wasn’t something new to you, but as soon as you both started dating, you didn’t expect her to literally get sent sex toys for you both to try out and recommend or give your review about it.

your girlfriend was doing a live on her sinstagram, when you unexpectedly entered the room in the lingerie she just bought you just a few days ago.

of course, she had to end her livestream by saying a lame excuse to pamper your needs, and what the best way to do that with testing the vibrator who got sent to her for a review.

"velvette, ah- it‘s too much, i‘m going to cum" while sitting on her lap and putting your arms around her neck, you both suddenly heard velvettes phone vibrating like crazy, turns out she never ended her livestream and all hell just saw how needy you were for her.

after really ending the live, let’s just say that the vibrator you used got most-sold-sex-toy of the month.

˖ ˚ ༘✶ LUTE .

your girlfriend is somehow always occupied with something that isn’t you, so you might of have your ways to have her attention.

even though your girlfriend is an exterminator, you both sometimes ended up working together.

so, if dragging her near a closet to have her all for yourself was bad, then what you wanted to do in there with her would be worse.

"(name), it’s not appropriate, and adam is gonna be here anytime soon" lute said, staring at your face with her mask "yeah, yeah you say that every time, but you know how it always ends"

and yes, it was true, your girlfriend knew your true intentions when you dragged her into the closet, but still, she had a kinky side where she liked doing things you weren’t supposed to.

not to mention how hot you looked when you tried to be the dominant one.

"fuck, you're already so wet, huh? is it because you like getting me in trouble or because you want me to punish you?" she said, rubbing her fingers near your clit faster each time, "ah, lute-! keep going" "you’re a fucking mess, answer my questi-"

"DANGERTITS? bullshit, why the fuck didn’t i come sooner? legit thought you didn’t have sex, but you know what? this can get pretty awesome if i joi-“

adam did in fact not join you both, but he did make lute clear that "you both needed the original dick to even come" - adams words.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Sunshine - Part 4

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 8

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Plus-size female character (nickname is Sunshine)

Prompt: “Maybe this'll help you relax” | [Hot Bath | Another Drink | Cockwarming] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (4k) Series Masterlist TW: Mention of (past) SA. During a blackout, Bucky learns more about Sunshine’s past.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Slow burn. Grumpy/Sunshine trope. Happy Bucky (is that a warning?) - he's a photographer in this AU. Mention of insecurities, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and body image (she's a bit of a mess, okay?). Internal dialogue. Sexual thoughts. Use of weed. Mention of car accident and minor injuries. Mention of emotionally immature parents. Mention of (past) SA.

---------------------------

Bucky barely got any sleep last night, having spent most of it thinking about Sunshine and the different ways he could confess his feelings. Ridiculous, elaborate plans that would likely just overwhelm her and risk ruining this before it can even begin. None of which he actually considered putting forth.

This isn’t about surprising her or winning her over. Bucky wants Sunshine to trust him enough to share her past, to allow him to learn what shaped her into the woman she is today. Not as a means to take advantage of their undeniable connection, but to see if this is even something she wants to pursue.

The intimate moment they shared last night is the only evidence he has that she feels the same way he does. It’s not enough to jeopardize their friendship, no matter how much he wants to ask her out on a date. No matter how much he wants to tell her how beautiful she is and how long he’s thought about kissing her.

Bucky’s determined to do this right.

Which means he also has to take into account what Sunshine might be dealing with if his assumptions are correct. He already saw a glimpse of it last night, the way she blushed and acted as if it didn’t suddenly feel like they were the only two people in the world. Trying to pretend that they were sharing a friendly interaction and not the start of something that most people only get to dream about.

Planning to listen to his intuition - something that’s rarely steered Bucky wrong - he decides to approach this from two different angles. 

Before he leaves for work, he takes the time to write her a note, going through several pieces of paper figuring out how to word his message. Friendly, but not overly flirty. The point is to ease her worry that things are awkward between them, not to convince her that last night meant something to him.

Bucky will save that for tonight. And, if there’s any indication that Sunshine’s looking for a relationship, he won’t let her go one more night convincing herself that he doesn’t want her. He can’t.

-------------------

After tossing and turning for the last few hours, she finally kicks off the covers and sits up in bed with a soft groan. The last thing she wants to do is get ready for work, having to go into the office today, but the thought of calling out sick gives her too much anxiety.

 She’s not sick. She’s just stupid. 

Last night has been playing on a loop in her head, as if her brain is trying to torture her, oscillating between convincing her it was all in her head, to wondering if there really was some mutual flirtation going on.

By the time her alarm is going off, she’s done a spectacular job of sticking to being ‘realistic’ about the whole thing.

Bucky definitely wasn’t flirting. He was being friendly and she was reading way too much into it. She’s not his type. She imagined the whole thing. Even if he was flirting, it didn’t mean anything - it’s just who he is and now he’s comfortable showing that part of himself to her.

While getting dressed, she’s going further down the rabbit hole, imagining worst-case. It doesn’t even matter that he behaved like nothing was out of the ordinary after he was finished taking her picture. He kept his word, delivered her the final product and even joked that seeing her positive reaction to the headshots was payment enough.

But it still doesn’t stop her from believing that she’s going to find no coffee waiting for her. Or wondering if he moved out in the middle of the night to get as far away from her as possible.

If nothing else, she excels at nonsensical scenarios.

When she finally enters the kitchen, it’s like the wind gets knocked out of her. There’s coffee waiting, the familiar Good Morning, Sunshine! travel mug full and ready to go, but there’s also a piece of carefully folded paper next to it.

Oh god.

Every single possibility races through her head again, one thought slamming into another before she can even process the original one. Torn between wanting to quickly get it over with to see what the note says and wanting to postpone it for as long as possible, to delay bad news.

Already wasting enough time, her schedule forces her to gather her things and rush out the door, the unread note stuffed in her pocket, her heartbeat pounding in her ears with each heavy step she takes towards the subway. 

He’s leaving. You made him uncomfortable.

The moment she finds an empty seat on the train, she uses all the tricks to slow her breath and ease the stitch in her chest. Her anxiety is getting the best of her, not letting her think straight, causing her to feel as if she’s already living her worst nightmare.

Knowing she can’t wait until she’s at work, she wipes her sweaty palms on her thighs, the linen of her pants soaking up her nerves. 

Bucky wouldn’t deliver bad news like this. He wouldn’t treat her like she means nothing to him. Deciding not to silently admonish herself for believing he would, she opens the note instead, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

Good morning, Sunshine!

Thank you for trusting me to take your picture.

If you ever want to do it again, 

just say the word and I’m all yours.

(that goes for anything you want to do together)

I hope you have a great day!

Try not to work too hard,

     Bucky

During the 5th reread, she almost misses her stop and shoves the note back in her pocket, planning to look at it at least ten more times today. At least she finally feels like she can breathe again.

Everything’s okay. 

Maybe more than okay?

Instead of allowing herself to go down that line of thinking, she’s just happy that she didn’t fuck things up last night. Their friendship is the only thing that matters to her. She can deal with the rest of it later. Or, never.

-------------------

The expected thunderstorm arrives earlier than predicted, drenching Sunshine just minutes before she walks in the door. Finding Bucky standing there ready with a towel, her look of annoyance morphs into one of surprise and he grins at her, resisting the urge to wrap her up in his arms. 

He’s also ignoring the desire to let his eyes roam, just barely catching a glimpse of the way her wet clothes cling to her body. Bucky wants to peel them off of her, expose every inch of glistening skin, lick up each drop of-.

Sunshine’s movements interrupt his thoughts, the towel mopping up the wetness along her arms as she rushes to her bedroom to change. Brief exchanges of hello, a passing complaint about forgetting her umbrella at work, and he’s suddenly alone again, searching for another towel to dry the floor as he laughs to himself.

This isn’t how he expected their evening to start, but Bucky’s not going to let it faze him. Nothing can ever go exactly as planned, he just needs to make sure Sunshine’s evening isn’t ruined. A little rain might seem inconsequential to him, but it could be her last straw after a stressful day.

Giving her space to dry off and join him when she’s ready, Bucky moves into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee and look through their cabinets for a snack. Just as he’s planning to prepare more than enough to share with her, the flicker of the lights stops him in his tracks.

The storm is building and there’s a very real possibility they’re going to lose power. 

Praying the coffee finishes before they do, Bucky calls out for Sunshine and starts gathering supplies for the impending blackout, tossing everything onto the counter. Flashlights and batteries. Candles and lighters. A portable charger. A charged USB fan from his backpack in case it gets warm.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” she says, joining him in the kitchen, eyeing everything he’s managed to find in such a short amount of time. 

Bucky doesn’t miss the way his readiness makes her smile, but just as he opens his mouth to respond, fate steps in, reminding them who’s in charge, and they’re engulfed in darkness.

Sunshine’s soft, exasperated “well fuck me” seems to echo throughout the suddenly quiet apartment and straight to Bucky’s brain, threatening to send him into a spiral of dirty thoughts. All he can do is break into a fit of laughter to join hers, the exhilarating sound filling him with contentment.

Whatever happens tonight, it’ll only bring them closer.

A few minutes later, the soft glow of the lit candles creating an unintentional romantic atmosphere, Bucky joins Sunshine on the couch, setting her bong and glass container of weed carefully on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” There’s a slight furrow to her brow, but she’s laughing, as if she’s hoping for another rare night where he joins her.

It hadn’t been his plan - wanting to be as clear headed as he could be tonight - but, the look she’s giving him has him throwing away every last shred of the plan. None of this has gone the way he thought it would, so he may as well go with the flow.

“I dunno about you,” he grins, pulling his legs underneath him to turn towards her, giving her his full attention, “but I’d love nothing more than to get high and play some cards with you.” Producing a deck of cards from his jeans, her smile grows and he watches a bit of the stress from her day melt away.

Bucky may not know everything about Sunshine, but he’s paid attention long enough to know what she needs during moments like this.

-------------------

Bucky’s note was the highlight of her day, everything going downhill after that. Meetings that should have been emails. Unnecessary, awkward social interactions. The looming promise of a mid-year review. The only thing she wanted to do after work was come home, get stoned, and find something to distract her brain for a bit.

None of her usual choices are options now that they’ve lost power, and the fact that Bucky seems to understand without her having to say a word makes last night come rushing back. Even if there hadn’t been any flirting, it’s obvious that he cares about her, and not just on a surface level. That’s what she needs to be focusing on, not the delusional hope of having more with him.

The weed helps, encouraging her to relax and enjoy the moment with Bucky, the occasional dirty thought quickly brushed away. The usual anxiety and insecurities that are known to plague her are quieted, and soon she’s having too much fun laughing and joking with him to worry about anything else.

She doesn’t even mind when the joking turns into more serious conversations, the topic soon approaching dangerous territory: childhood and family. She listens with rapt attention while Bucky recounts the tale of how he and Steve met the summer before junior year of high school.

“I had just gotten my license,” he explains, glancing at his cards to decide his next play, “and was driving my mom’s old station wagon home from a friend’s when a guy blew through a stop sign, hit my passenger side and spun my car straight into a tree.”

She gasps and her eyes widen, her mind suddenly filled with horrible images of teenage Bucky hurt and in pain, but she’s too invested in the story to verbalize any thought or question, her own cards held tightly in her hands.

Not letting the tension build, Bucky’s quick to tell her, “I was lucky, but the tree put up a pretty good fight.” She watches as he pulls up his short sleeve to show her a faint scar above his left bicep, the thin line snaking around his arm and up underneath his shirt.

Using the excuse that the candles aren’t providing enough light, she leans in to get a better look, the couch dipping between them as she ignores the part of her brain telling her to touch him. The absurd thought is almost enough to make her laugh, but she covers it up with a soft clearing of her throat and settles back, meeting his gaze to say, “Please don’t tell me Steve was the guy who ran the stop sign.”

Easing any worries starting to grow, Bucky grins and shakes his head. “Of course not. The hospital was busy, so I ended up with a roommate.” The bright smile on his face tells her everything she needs to know, and she laughs when he confirms it. “Steve and I immediately butted heads, and then became inseparable. It didn’t take long for my parents to basically adopt him as their own, and right before 11th grade ended, they invited him to move in with us like it was nothing.”

After everything Bucky’s told her about his parents, she’s not surprised, but she’s unable to stop herself from blurting out, “Wow. Your family is a lot different than mine.” She’s still laughing when she says it, but that familiar feeling of being too vulnerable threatens to rear its ugly head. 

For the first time, and not just because of the weed, she dismisses the fear, suddenly wanting nothing more than to share more of herself with Bucky. She’s kept so many things safely hidden, unsure of how he might react, or how it would change things between them. They just started to truly be comfortable with each other, and while she’s scared of erasing all that progress, the need for more of a connection with him is too great.

As if reading her mind, Bucky gently says, “I know not everyone is fortunate enough to have parents like I do.” He pauses to take his turn in the card game, then adds with a smile, “So while I might not be able to truly understand, I’d still like to try.”

Taking a moment to consider her next play, her eyes focused on her cards, she casually begins with, “My parents are the complete opposite of yours.” A glance up to see that Bucky’s attention is only on her has a tingle of excitement settling over her, a complete contrast to the usual jolt of worry and nausea she feels during these conversations. “Distant. Cold. Selfish. I think they call it ‘emotionally immature’ or something.”

Putting her cards face-down in front of her, she finally meets his eyes again, seeing nothing but sympathy staring back at her. There’s no pity, no look as if she’s suddenly broken. It encourages her to keep going, to share more of herself with him.

Giving him a slight shrug and a soft exhale of a laugh, she explains, “Basically, they didn’t know how to be parents or care enough to even try. Other than meeting our physical needs - roof over our head, food in the fridge - it was like living with complete strangers. But hey, it’s probably why I’m so good at living with roommates.”

“Jesus,” Bucky laughs, shaking his head at her. Her dark humor has a way of catching people off guard, but it’s obvious that he’s not just laughing to placate her. He genuinely seems to appreciate her jokes, even the ‘inappropriate’ ones.

“It’s true!” Her growing smile only seems to make him laugh more and she shrugs innocently, their attention on each other, the game now paused. “But, it’s also why I struggle at communicating and expect the worst in every situation.”

Bucky nods in understanding, a soft smile on his face. When his tongue flicks out to wet his lips, she can’t even resist glancing at his mouth before meeting his gaze again, her cheeks growing warm. With just a hint of knowing smile, he says, “It’s why I left you the note this morning. I figured there might be a little stressing out, and I wanted to try to help if I could.”

“You did.”

This time when their eyes connect, she doesn’t forget how to breathe, despite the dazzling smile suddenly lighting up his face. Her heart still skips a beat, but her body stays relaxed enough for her to take in a slow, deep breath. 

As her lungs fill, warmth spreads throughout her body, and that deep yearning returns. That longing for connection and intimacy, to be loved and cared for by someone. It’s the only reason she has for what comes out of her mouth next.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything.” He says it so quickly and with such conviction that she actually believes it. For right now, in this moment, she trusts that she can tell him anything and it won’t be ‘too much’ or make him treat her differently.

She still doesn’t find the words until after she takes a much needed sip of water, keeping the sweating bottle in her grip to occupy her hands. “Sometimes I worry that I’m too fucked up for a relationship. That no one can handle all the things wrong with me.”

-------------------

This isn’t how Bucky wanted to get to this information, but he’s still grateful to learn that Sunshine isn’t necessarily single on purpose. Despite her sadness, it gives him a spark of hope that this is the invitation he’s been waiting for. 

Treading carefully, he slowly shakes his head to disagree, telling her, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

His words make her laugh, but he takes it in stride, letting her speak her piece, listening to her list all the things she views as ‘wrong’ about herself. Her anxiety, her insecurities, her intrusive thoughts, her lack of family and inability to trust people.

Once she pauses, Bucky leans forward, not caring when their cards slide along the couch cushion, mixing together. What she needs to hear is more important than anything else. “Those are things you struggle with.”

With another soft laugh, she replies, “It’s the same thing.” 

“No, Sunshine, it’s not.” Bucky’s smile fades slightly, giving her a glimpse into his serious side, desperate for her to understand how he views her.

There's nothing wrong with her and she's not broken. 

He can see the emotion growing behind her eyes, the familiar ache to pull away, to break the silence with a joke. Bucky expects it, and he won’t fight her on it, but he doesn’t encourage it this time. He stands his ground, holding her gaze, an understanding smile gracing his face as he waits for her.

“You don’t understand.” 

It comes out as a whisper, barely audible, but the apartment’s still quiet, save for the lingering noise of the fading storm coming in through the open window, and the slight hum of the battery-powered fan keeping them relatively cool.

There’s more to Sunshine’s story. Something from her past that makes her believe she’s not worth someone’s time and effort to learn how to love her. It makes him itch to hold her, to physically comfort her in whatever way she’ll allow. 

They’re not quite there yet, so all he can do is encourage her to tell him, then he’ll be able to prove to her that she’s wrong.

“Whatever it is, it still doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

The soft sigh that leaves Sunshine tells him she’s ready to divulge more information and he grows quiet, watching her gather the forgotten cards into a neat pile. “My parents weren’t the only fucked up people in my family.”

This isn’t a time for assumptions, but wherever this is going, Bucky’s chest is already starting to ache, silently taking in how her trembling hands reach to load a new bowl. They’re both high as kites, but if it’s what she needs to tell him more of her secrets, he’s not going to question it or shame her.

After a large hit that she almost struggles with, she starts over, telling him, “When I was in high school, I started spending a lot of time at my aunt’s house, while my parents worked.” 

She pauses yet again, this time to offer him a hit, as if grasping for the last bit of distraction she can find to delay this. 

But Bucky doesn't provide her one, politely declining and offering her a soft smile when she teases, “Ya sure? It’s not an easy story. It might help you relax.”

He doesn’t need her to comfort him or make this easier to digest. Bucky wants all of her, especially the parts that she's been taught to believe aren't worth knowing. Carefully placing the bong back on the coffee table, he says, “I’m sure, Sunshine. I promise, it’s okay.”

An audible swallow, a slow nod of her head, and then a deep, steadying breath. Maybe he is starting to get through to her.

Gently clearing her throat, she explains, “I spent a lot of time at my aunt’s house, while my parents worked, and…”

She briefly glances at him again, smiling at the encouraging nod he gives her, before finally allowing her confession to come out. “My older cousin still lived there and he started… paying attention to me.” A nonchalant shrug, and then the words that make Bucky’s stomach drop, “Inappropriate comments turned into unwanted touching.” As if she needs to defend herself, she adds, “I didn’t know what to do. No one had ever talked to me about that stuff.”

“Sunshine,” Bucky says, the urgency in his voice begging her to keep looking at him. It takes her a moment, but when she does, the fear is palpable, the emotion clear in her eyes. “I don’t care if someone gave you step-by-step instructions and you still didn’t know what to do. None of the blame falls on you.”

She blinks back the unshed tears and nods her head, but still tries to dismiss it all with a shrug of her shoulders. “It took me a while to finally tell someone - a teacher at school - and when my family found out, they all just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. My parents were more mad that I got the school and the police involved than they were about anything else.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to hold back the emotion, the anger and sadness threatening to well up inside of him. Thoughts of wanting to find her family and enact some sort of revenge on every single one that caused Sunshine pain. It’s not his responsibility to fix this, but he sure as hell can ease some of her concerns.

“I know there’s nothing I can say that can make up for your shitty family, but I am proud of you, and I am so glad that none of them get to see the amazing person you are today.”

-------------------

She wants to cry. She wants to hug him. She wants to trauma-dump and have him console her. But, she’s not ready for any of that right now, no matter how much she feels like she can suddenly trust him.

There have been countless times where she’s shared this secret with someone and it’s backfired. Caused rifts and awkward exchanges. Reduced a friendship or relationship to nothing but innocent jokes and weird looks during conversations about intimacy and sex. 

The way Bucky is looking at her doesn’t give her any anxiety about their future. She feels seen and heard, and extremely hopeful that things aren’t going to change between them. It allows her to be comfortable enough to remind him again that she’s scared of what her prospects are.

“Now you get it,” she tells him with a smile, offering out her hand like there’s nothing else for her to explain. “No one in their right mind is ever going to want to date me and deal with all my issues.”

“That's not true."

That conviction in Bucky's voice is still there, but it does nothing to prepare her for what he promises next.

"I definitely do.”

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